The Enigma of James T Kirk
by Spark City13
Summary: AU: If one must tell a story, one must start from the beginning. 20 years ago 16-year old Spock was in short, miserable, well, as miserable as a Vulcan can be considered. He had been forcibly removed from Shi'khar, to live in Earth on San Francisco. Doomed to a life already chosen from him, resigned in acceptance of his situation. That will all change when he meets Jim Kirk.
1. Chapter 1 The 1st Time

**Chapter 1. **

Personal Log Stardate 5142. Standard Time.

If one must tell a story, one must start from the beginning, but it is hard to decide when to start such a story. It was always difficult when it came to matters relating to James Kirk, and this was no exception. I met him a total of 3 times in 3 different ways. Logically, I should start from the very beginning; when I first met him, when I did not know his name, yet I knew so much more.

**20 years ago **

Though one should have logically accepted the situation given the unchanging circumstances, in my own recesses of his mind even I could silently admit I consistently felt one strong emotion towards San Francisco: hatred. I hated the cold winds that chilled to the core of my being no matter the temperature, the winding roads littered with debris, the chaos seemingly embedded into the heart of the city. Most of all I hated the people in the city, though I could admit that San Francisco was not to blame for that. All beings, regardless of the situation or location, always despised me. It was not entirely their fault either, people always feared the unknown and I was an unknown in every sense of the word. There was no point in lamenting; there was nothing I could do to improve my situation, and such thoughts only produced unhappiness and unease.

Hence, I had learned to quench these feelings of resentment. I had grown accustomed to this turmoil within me, a constant ache that never quite went away no matter the circumstances. In time, it had become more bearable, never less noticeable. One must eventually accept their reality, even if they despise it. I had learned to accept that fact from a young age, not out of comfort, but out of necessity. I had learned to control my emotions, to tighten them to a core within me, keeping them within and never to reveal. Emotions, in all cultures, were a sign of weakness, and I could not afford to be weak. Experience taught to detach from them, pleasant or otherwise, or accept annihilation. I had even reduced the deepest emotions to a dull ache, a fragment of what it was before. Painful memories became dullened with the sands of time, and everything else was numb in comparison. But I could never rid myself of them completely, they perpetually remained there, a constant reminder of who I was, and who I never could be.

Still, my hatred persisted against San Francisco. Perhaps it was unjustified to blame a location for my contempt. It was illogical to hate a location that had done nothing against me. My disdain rooted in my choice of living here, or rather, lack thereof. 3 years ago my mother decided to move us away from Shi'khar to her home planet, Earth. The move, like most decisions my mother had made, was an entirely illogical one. Inevitably, she had tired of life on an alien planet. She had never enjoyed Vulcan, with its intense heats, and roaming deserts, and strange customs. More than that, though, she hated being on Vulcan, around not only strangers but entirely different species. She hated being an anomaly on a planet, there was no one to talk to, to understand her plight or even care to understand. Humans by nature are social creatures, and eventually, even my father and video chats could not be enough to sustain her. After 14 years she finally convinced my father to leave the council and become an ambassador on Earth. My father was unpleased with the notion, nor was I. But eventually, my mother won. It was one of the few times that my mother had ever asked anything from my father, and he could never bear to see her unhappy. It seemed the best option at the time.

She chose San Francisco, not only because of its proximity to Starfleet but also her ties to it. This was the city she grew up in, her childhood 'home' so to speak. In many ways, I could see why she loved the city. It was vibrant, and energetic and warm and chaotic, just like her. It was emotional, imaginative, everything that my mother so humanly valued. This was a city of humans, of smiles and greetings and feeling without regret or regard. It was the exact opposite of Shi'khar, everything my mother had missed, but I was not my mother.

My mother was naive. She had forgotten the bitter side of human nature. She didn't see how their smiles did not meet their eyes, that beneath the glimmering faces existed thoughts of malice and hostility. She didn't feel how their smiles covered their sneers, not only at her but at our entire family. She couldn't possibly know how instead of rocks they hurled their words at me, with innocent questions, a facade of politeness with daggers underneath. She couldn't have known of the isolation, to be so full of everyone's emotions, yet empty of your own at the same time. She didn't understand anything. How could she? How could she when surrounded by her people? My father had not understood on Vulcan either. Perhaps no one could, there always was a bias to your own species.

Besides, I did not discuss such matters with anyone, especially not my father. My problems were very emotional, very human, problems. I was long past the age that it was acceptable to have such feelings, much less be troubled by them. I already knew my father's answer: meditation and logical contemplation. Even if we were to discuss it, I doubt he would understand. Here, while he was as alien, he was also an ambassador and a respected member of Starfleet. Even if people harboured xenophobic thoughts, they dared not voice them or even think them aloud in his presence. After all, it would be a disaster to insult Vulcan, and no one was foolish enough to consider the prospect. I possessed no such upper hand. I was only a child, with nothing to my name, nor any reputation worthy of commanding any shred of respect. My parent's reputation was only a burden, not protection—my actions a reflection of their upbringing of me. I was not only a cultural but a scientific anomaly, an impossibility in every manner possible. I was half-human, half-Vulcan, neither enough of one to be satisfactory and a disappointment or oddity in both. I was not logical enough to be Vulcan, and I was not human enough to be acceptable. I wasn't bitter, merely accepting of the reality I was given.

There was only one solace in this desolate place, and that was the library. It was the university library for Starfleet, but in the summer it was hardly used, mostly due to the fact that people did not care to use it. With the advent of holos, libraries were far and few in between; with most people only visiting if they required research not yet translated into holo. I did not mind physical books, though, and in some ways, they were better. I could not explain it logically, but there was something inherently more real to me about books, and there was something consoling in that reality. I had learned to use knowledge not only as a weapon to gain status but as a means of comfort, a way to escape when reality became too much to bear. Knowledge was accurate, understandable, and accessible to those willing to gain it. It was one of the few ways I could gain the closest thing to respect, a manner of equality for all.

While there were holos in the library, they also housed plenty of non-holo copies, a rarity in the city. I had slowly been working my way through the nonfiction section of the library, with a focus on astrophysics and mathematics. I had always expressed a keen interest in science, particularly with the stars and the world beyond. Perhaps it was a naive thought, but I always dreamed as a child to find someone like me in the stars. I remember my fascination since I was young, going to the mountains to chart them in the deserts under the crystalline skies. Here, the skies were too polluted to see the stars, another reason why I disliked this city.

Besides this, it was also one of the few public spaces where I could roam freely without the risk of running into too many people. Home was often too cold, too judgemental to act freely, and anywhere else I ran the risk of hatred. The only person consistently here was the librarian, and she didn't mind anyone, as long as they respected her books and holos. It was my own island of contentment, free to explore and stimulate my mind in peace.

I was here today to read about quantum mechanics. Mrs Weaver, the librarian, had informed me that a new shipment of books from the archives in Boston was arriving, and I had been anxiously anticipating them since. I have been particularly interested in books about Paul Dirac since most of his early work was untranslated into holo.

"I was informed of the new shipment arriving today. Have you obtained the books on Mr Dirac yet?" She gave a small pitying glance. I still was unaccustomed to how much emotion people put on their faces, even unintentionally.

"Sorry, son, someone has already checked it out."

"...I see, thank you." I didn't think much of the incident until 2 days later.

XXX

"Spock, the book you wanted arrived today. The person checked it in this morning."

"Thank you, Mrs Weaver," hastily accepting the book from her.

In the front of the book, I discovered to my surprise a note addressed to me. Well, not specifically me, but the next person reading it. Mrs Weaver must have told them I had been waiting for the book, much to my chagrin.

_"Sorry that I took the book, I didn't realize someone had been waiting for it. It's a good read if you're interested in the topic (which I'm assuming you are) but it's a bit dull in some areas, though maybe you'll find it more interesting. Science has never been my strong suit; I'm much more into classical literature. My mom's making me research this, though. She says it's good to get out of your comfort zone, but I think she's just trying to keep me occupied. Sorry, I'm rambling._

_Are you a Starfleet student? Mrs Weaver says you come in here a lot. I don't think I've ever seen you before though; this place is usually empty whenever I come. Then again, I usually come here really early. Anyway, Mrs Weaver said you spend a lot of time here. If you ever get bored with the science stuff, I wrote a list of books you may like. You should try to diversify your reading list; it's good to know what you don't know._

_Best regards,_

_-J"_

The first words that came to mind were illogical. Completely and utterly illogical. Even though I had never met him emotion exuded from the paper. I could practically hear his animated voice, unabashedly talking with passion to the fullest extent. It was the opposite of everything I stood for...yet despite the emotionality, I did not outright oppose the note nor him. In fact, a part of me was amused, albeit a little taken aback.

From what I could gauge, he was intelligent and well-informed, considering the fact he had even read the book in the first place. He also was extremely emotional, the kind of person that would draw in a crowd. What was strange was he had taken an interest in me, a stranger he knew nothing about except that I had wanted the book and I frequented this place. Yet he wrote as if he already knew me. Perhaps this familiarity was typical of humans in writing, though I harboured a sinking suspicion that this was not the case. In any case, out of mere curiosity, impulse, and even humour, I looked at some of the books he recommended. After all, knowledge is knowledge regardless of the source of recommendation, and it was logical to understand the value of all topics. As "J" wrote, it was good to know what I didn't know. It could also help me understand humans better if I gained a better understanding of their culture, something I hadn't considered before.

The first book I checked out was one by Shakespeare, a tragic play called Macbeth. I had, of course, heard of Shakespeare. Even on Vulcan, the Terran writer was not unknown, and my mother had frequently talked of his stories. I had never read him, though. I had never had an interest in fiction. On Vulcan, every work of fiction not related to the history of Vulcan was considered, at best, a waste of time. Reading was not for enjoyment but only for gaining knowledge. The story was surprisingly sordid, but it also resonated with me. It was an accurate portrayal of the dark side of human nature and the corruption of power.

When I came to return the book, Mrs Weaver gave me another note from the same mysterious writer.

_"She told me you were reading Macbeth. I'm glad you took my recommendation. I told her to give you this when you return the book. How did you like it? I wrote more recommendations if you'd like. Tell me what else you like, so I can give you something you will more likely like. Also, what should I call you?_

_-J"_

At first, I ignored the notes, figuring that logically if I did not respond, he would eventually lose interest and I would be unbothered again. Still, I did not detest the notes, or at least not as much as I expected. There was an odd charm in them, a magnanimity that made him appear as more endearing than annoying. He was still very emotional, intelligent but chaotic, jumping from one topic to the next without a logical connection from any previous thought. The letters were never organized in any methodical way, as if he wrote a stream of his consciousness rather than an actual letter. Most of the time, he shared an opinion on the book he had recommended, with an occasional stray thought sprinkled in. He always wrote without any fear of judgement, as if a close confidant, who I supposed he assumed what we were at that point. Occasionally, he would also talk about himself, a memory a poem caused him to remember, a character that reminded him of someone he knew. These were flashing moments, always offhand, but they slowly built a picture of who he was.

In all honesty, if I wanted to end it I knew what I had to do. There were actually many simple options I could do with minor repercussions. A part of me though, one that would not openly admit it, liked the letters. There was something illogically emotional, illogically human, but comforting in them. He spoke to me like no one else had before. It was as if, even for a moment, like someone was talking to me, even if just for a moment.

I was not bold enough to act on it though, and there was also a deep sense of shame with even allowing myself to feel this way, much less act on it. The fact remained that he was only a stranger, a charming stranger, but still a stranger. I did not really know him. I did not know his age, his appearance, or even his name. Anything he wrote (while improbable) could have been fabricated. My indirect continual encouragement was not only illogical but idiotic.

I also began noticing an alarming pattern emerging in the latest set of letters. Before, the letters had always been one-sided, while addressed to me it had mainly been him writing about himself. That changed incrementally when he started asking more about me. His questions started innocently enough, my name, my interests, my opinions on the reading. I did not answer such questions. Even if I did somewhat 'accept' his letters, I was not brazen enough to openly admit that, much less encourage such behaviour. He was persistent though, instead of decreasing in interest as one would think, he only increased from my silence, with each note asking more and more personal questions. Why did I enjoy science? What did I want to do? What were my hopes and dreams? What were my deepest fears? The questions weren't uncomfortable to answer, nor ill-intentioned, but the fact of him asking in the first place was shocking, to say the least. No one had ever cared to understand me before in any way. I did not know what to think or do with such questioning. Every time I read them a continual question bombarded me: what did he want from me? Perhaps a small part of me didn't answer because I knew the reality would disappoint him and he would stop writing once I started answering. I would not blame him either.

After 3 weeks, 21 letters and 79 questions later, I grew impatient with him. For the 29th time, "J" asked my name, which I found to be hypocritical considering he didn't even give his own. Enough was enough; I decided to end this now. I curtly responded on a small piece of paper:

"Please desist from such questioning. You would be unable to pronounce it anyway." I handed the note to Mrs Weaver and told her to give it to him.

Instead of having the intended effect of making him stop, the questions only increased with fervour. The following note was not a letter but an interrogation. On the paper, he wrote a list of 36 questions, all directed at me. I did not even think it was possible to write 36 questions about someone, much less someone caring enough to know the answers. I realised my plan had failed to consider the irrationality of J. His behaviour had been a factor I had undermined, and now I was in a considerably worse position. I could no longer feign ignorance of reading his letters, and he knew given enough persistence I would eventually answer. I had given him an inch, and he had run a mile.

_"So the man finally speaks! I was honestly kind of worried for a while. I didn't know what you did with these letters. Mrs Weaver told me you always took them, but I never knew if you actually read them or not. I was worried I was bothering you. I guess I still am, but not as much anymore._

_I like your handwriting, by the way; it's really pretty, it kind of reminds me of Vulcan script. Do you know of Vulcan? It's a beautiful planet, some of the most brilliant minds come from there. Anyway, it feels weird knowing you read these. I mean, I always wanted you to read them, and I assumed you did. It still feels weird to have actual confirmation though, you know? I feel almost self-conscious, which is dumb considering it's too late for that. Anyway, I want to know more than your name. I want to know everything about you. I always feel like I write about myself, and it isn't fair to only keep talking about me. Besides, I'm curious to know about you; you fascinate me. I wrote down a list of questions I found online. Supposedly, these questions would make people fall in love. Of course, it's completely wrong, but I like the questions, nonetheless._

_By the way, why can't I say your name? I'm pretty determined I could if you wrote it. I'm very stubborn if you can't tell. Besides, it doesn't hurt for me to try right?_

_-J"_

Whether it was out of resignation or something more I did not know but I answered every single question. The next day he had already written back, commenting briefly on each, and answering each one as well. So began the start of the closest thing I could call a friendship. We continued writing fervently to each other throughout the summer. His curiosity was like a hydra, one answer sprouted two more questions, a never-ending chain of interest. He was never unkind either, he never pointed out if I didn't answer anything. He also was always considerate and gentle with my answers, never harsh or cruel. Though it was impossible to accurately know, he seemed genuinely interested in me, not of me. This feeling warmed me and caused me, despite my shame, to be excited to hear from him again. I also slowly asked questions of him, which he encouraged, always reassuring me he was happy to answer any I had, and always answering with enthusiasm. Life flowed from his words like nothing I had ever felt before, a happiness directed at me I had never felt from another living being.

I slowly began painting a more detailed picture of him. For one, he was not from here. He had grown up in the countryside, but due to his mother's occupation and other various reasons, he had moved to San Francisco this summer. He was approximately 1 year, 2 months and 16 days younger than me. Both of his parents were in Starfleet, so he did not see them often, much as I did not see mine. He also, unsurprisingly, wanted to join Starfleet when he was older. He wanted to become a captain of his own ship, travelling the stars and exploring the galaxies. He had an older brother who he lived with and acted as his main guardian. He was well versed in a wide array of topics; the basic sciences, battle tacticians, politics, language, cultures both on Earth and elsewhere, federation history and Earth history, mythology, psychology, and everything in between. The only topic he seemed to not understand was navigation, which was ironic for someone aspiring to be a Starfleet captain.

He was at heart a romantic; he loved poetry, and classic Terran writers, such as Shakespeare, Poe, Aristotle and Plato. As he put it, it spoke to his soul; there was something moving about how they wrote a rose smelled, or the deep tragedy of loss. Though I had never been inclined to poetry, through his writing, I had to agree that there was a powerful emotion in words. He was, in general, obsessed with pre-Federation Earth culture, particularly the 1980s style of music and movies (which he talked incessantly about, especially after he discovered I had not watched 'The Breakfast Club', which I learned had nothing to do with breakfast and more with intoxicated teenagers). He loved life in every sense of the word. He saw the potential of humanity, but also the dangers in it, despising any type of war or violence. He hated vegetables, was allergic to approximately 27 different substances (an unexpectedly high number). He liked the city but missed the countryside because you couldn't see the stars. He was illogical, emotional, and everything that went against what I should value. Yet, I could not help but contain a strange fondness for him.

Our conversations inevitably melted away from the content we were reading and more about the interests of the other. Sometimes the letters were short, a joke or two, something the other did or read. But they were always considerate and responsive to the previous one. Other times they were lengthy and long, a chaotic hurricane of emotion swept through ink and passion. I also began talking of myself, expressing my opinions every now and then. Each time I did, he would always reply with something, a jest, a compliment, a comment, but always good-natured. He slowly coaxed more out of me.

I talked of Vulcan, the burning heat, the neverending sands and cool desert breezes. I talked of the clear night skies, sitting under the stars, hoping to find a home in them. I spoke of my childhood and I-chaya, of the cruel Vulcan children and how unkind people are when fear drives them. I spoke of my dreams to escape, to discover a world of acceptance, of something beyond me that I had been looking for but could never name. I spoke of my parents, their jobs, and expectations for me to follow their occupation. I spoke of my love of science and my distaste for politics, finding people a constant enigma I could never understand. I told him of my siblings, of Sybok who continued to live on Vulcan and Michael who I did not speak to anymore.

I never mentioned names, though, and only answered what he specifically asked. I kept the details limited, curt and intentional, never explaining more than what was necessary to satisfactorily fulfil the question. He did not ever press, but I still worried. I worried not only he would tire of me, but also that I was giving him too much. I could not let him know who I was outside of these letters. He could not know of my heritage, my true heritage. It was a shameful fact that I would avoid at all costs. Years of abuse from both sides had taught me that; acceptance was never to be expected, much less kindness. I had grown accustomed to the stares, the whispers behind my back, the look of disgust of fear, of anger at my mere existence. I had learned not to care about their opinions, or at least appear not to. With him, it was different. He was different. He was kind, and intelligent, and genuine, and warm, so very warm. He was like the sun, a warmth I discovered I could not bear to lose. I was so very afraid of losing him. It was odd and in a way pathetic that the closest thing I had made to a friend I didn't even know his name.

**Author's Note**

This is the start of a VERY LONG story...with a lot of slow build. Ideally, it will be around 17 chapters long, but I'm excited to share it with everyone. Anyway, please leave a comment on what you think and how to improve it. Also for anyone interested, there is an actual list of 36 questions to fall in love-the NY times did an article on it.


	2. Chapter 2 The 2nd Time

**Chapter 2.**

School always began too early for his liking. It was undoubtedly the worst part of living in San Francisco. He had always despised school, not because of the academic content but the beings he had to learn with. On Vulcan, it had been slightly better because there was a shared inherent value in academia, with the focus purely on the acquisition of knowledge. Yet even on Vulcan he had been ostracised, considered an inferior race, a disgrace in every manner. No amount of academic merit could prove their biases otherwise. They would not accept his equality despite the evidence, hypocritical for a society that valued logic above all else. They ridiculed him for doing well and used his mistakes as further proof for their beliefs. He could never win.

It was only amplified on Earth, where he not only acted differently, but he looked the part as well. It did not help that his values did not align with theirs in the slightest. Humans are also crueller than Vulcans. Vulcans harbour malice, but their rigidity to the doctrine of logic forced them to withhold such sentiments, at least outwardly. Humans contain no such moral codes. They act emotionally without regard for their actions. They do not care if he heard their snide comments or their eyes burning into his soul, as long as he did not react. When he turned to their direction though they disappeared, scurrying like rats into the masses. Wherever he entered fear always fills the room, the air thick and coarse like sand burning down his throat. The atmosphere so palpable it was like a weight upon his chest constricting him-a dark and gloomy cloud he could never outrun. Humans also do not shield themselves; he constantly felt everything of everyone, like 1000 voices screaming at you in every direction. It had taken a month to even step outside. Now it had become bearable but not less painful. He still highly disliked crowds, moving at odd hours to avoid them at all costs.

J, on the other hand, was excited to attend school. He was, after all, very human and it made sense as to why he would like it. He would thrive among them, instantly rising to the top. It was hard to imagine he would not be well-liked by everyone. He was also naive; he had never attended school before. Before, J explained, school had been nonexistent. Instead, it had been mostly tutoring with his other cousins at home or online. From that, he had received a stellar education from the world's most experienced Starfleet officers. This led to an education in some unorthodox subjects, as well as advancement in classes far beyond his age. It also explained his knowledge in a wide array of subjects and interests.

They discussed the matter at length as the school year became closer.

_"I'm starting school soon. I'm nervous but I guess that's to be expected. I don't know what to expect. I asked George, but he said I'd figure it out, like that's any help._

_I've never been around that many people before, especially not my age. Do you have any tips to fit in?"_

Oh, the irony. He didn't answer since any reply would be inadequate. Besides, any advice he might have would be useless, he was certain of that. He was certain that he would be fine without his help, and it would likely be better if none came from him. He only knew how to survive-to escape the crowds, not become a part of them. He could not imagine J not excelling; everything he touched was blessed. J would outrival everyone in all his classes, join all the clubs, make friends with everyone he met. He would be the perfect model student in every single way. A star that everyone would orbit around, unable to turn away. He would be perfectly fine.

XXX

Since arriving on Earth, he had perfected the art of living among humans to avoid the least amount of confrontation. While it wasn't perfect, he had improved it enough to work approximately 75% of the time, depending on the variables on the given day. Every day he arrived at school exactly 20.25 minutes early. This allowed him to locate and arrive in the advisory classroom 14.5 minutes early, which usually meant the room was still empty enough for him to select a seat without worry. He always chose one in the back right corner, one far enough to not draw attention or have anyone attack him from behind, but close enough to the door in need of an escape, approximately 5.68 seconds from where he sat. He then sat down, planning his further routes throughout the day.

He had long adapted other methods to survival besides just arriving early. He soon learned the best way to survive was to memorize all beneficial information and exploit it. Each year he requested his schedule early to plan the safest but most effective routes to his classes. For example, he kept a working list of all the teachers and their use to him. He knew which ones would allow him into their classrooms during a passing period and which ones to avoid at all costs. He knew their opinions, their rosters and any other relevant information he could easily access. He was also allowed by the school to leave 5 minutes early and arrive 5 minutes late, though he only reserved the right only when necessary. The administration didn't care though so long as he arrived to class. They didn't care much for him at all; he was just another cog in their grand money-making scheme, a number to tally to their statistics. He also considered other factors such as his appearance. He had quickly learned to abandon his Vulcan robes in favour of a more Terran appearance. He wore large clothing, nothing too tight and always neutral coloured to not draw attention. Since hoodies were banned, he wore a black beanie, hiding his ears so that he could quickly pass through a crowd without any immediate discernible features. Finally, he placed his satchel close on his side. He switched it from a backpack as he quickly realised that backpacks could be easily yanked, positioning him at a severe risk of vulnerability. In addition, it was also easier to steal from a backpack, lessons he learned the hard way. With a bag closer to me, they were less likely to mess with him. Humans are odd in that way, they only act guilty when caught.

Gradually the meandering students filled the classroom, bringing along with them a ringing chatter and excitement that should not have been allowed this early in the morning. They initially avoided him, but eventually some were forced to sit near his vicinity, a barrier of tables still forming. Mrs Garcia, the social studies teacher, was the last to enter. She was an older lady, approximately in her late fifties, with a short bob swept with bangs of dark brown hair sprinkled with silver slivers. Hidden behind a pair of round glasses were dark pointed eyes, sharp and keen that stared straight into your soul and instilled a reasonable amount of fear. Beneath the sharpness though there was a warmth, a kindness to all her students. She was a strict but ultimately kind teacher, a rarity for him that he endeavoured to keep. Today she wore a bright pink cardigan, a pastel blue skirt, and black heels, a vivid contrast that made her appear more like a walking pink highlighter than a human being. She had always had a propensity for bright colours though, and it adequately fit her personality. The room quickly hushed over as soon as she entered. She scanned the class, mentally taking attendance before standing in the centre and calling attention.

"Good morning, class. I hope you had a good summer break. Today, we have a new student joining our class today. James, you may come in now."

Everyone's head immediately shifted to look at the new guest. Slowly the door creaked open and he walked in, or rather strode in as if he walked upon a red carpet. The first thought that came to mind was confidence. He carried himself like a king, causing everyone unintentionally to be drawn to look at him in awe. This was not out of fear or jealousy but magnanimity. He emanated an aura of leadership, the kind of person everyone turned to listen to. Spock found himself awestruck by him, taken aback by his beauty. He looked as if he had stepped out from the heroes of the Greek mythos. His hair was sandy blonde, chaotic and untamed, curling in every way like the sands of Vulcan. Underneath the storm of hair lay deep brown eyes, bright and inquisitive, rapidly scanning the class with curiosity. His smile shone bright and flawlessly, like a model on TV. His skin was slightly paled but freckled, showing evidence of being kissed by the sun. There was something more about him than just appearance though. There was just something ethereal about him that caused Spock to continue staring in wonder. He could not stop looking no matter how much he wanted to, and he didn't really want to.

Their eyes locked together for a moment. Jim winked at him, knowingly grinning like two confidants divulging a secret. He then flashed the ta'al towards him, a small gesture but one of immense meaning. Spock quickly turned away, his face warm.

"Class, this is James Kirk. He's transferred from Iowa and is new to the school. I expect you to be courteous and help him become settled. Show him the personal calibre of the student body." She stared at us sternly before turning to him.

"James, would you like to introduce yourself?" He nodded, confidently stepping forward.

"Hi I'm James, but everyone calls him Jim. Like she said I'm from Iowa, but we moved here because of Starfleet. My brother is going to Academy and his parents work in Starfleet. I love space and literature and uh...yeah" He looked down sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. Mrs Garcia gave him a reassuring nod before dismissing him to sit down.

He immediately walked to the back of the classroom, choosing the desk to the left of Spock. He didn't notice or chose not to notice that no one was even sitting close to his vicinity. He smiled at him again. "Hi, I'm James,"

"I am aware," Spock said curtly, quickly turning away from him, his face inexplicably burning. Jim didn't seem to mind though, merely turning back and beginning to work on the lesson.

Throughout the lesson, Spock tried to focus but found it increasingly difficult. Midway through he realised he hardly paid attention from his appalling lack of notes. Despite this, he was still fixated on him, his mind still attempting to comprehend him. In the span of less than 30 minutes, Jim was already an odd fascination, proving himself to be an anomaly in every sense of the word. He was confident yet kind, close yet distant. He also strangely proved did not about reputation or other's expectations, painting himself as a target in less than 5 minutes. It was odd that he was almost going out of his way to be nice to a stranger he had met 30 minutes ago. Perhaps he was just oddly brave or stupidly naive. But the fact remained he had deliberately chosen to sit next to him, and that action spoke multitudes. Jim would learn soon enough, though. They all did. Sooner or later he would turn against him, if not because of him because of someone else. That was reality.

Still, there was something else odd about him. There was also an aura to him, a brilliant energy he radiated. Even though he did not touch him, he could inexplicably feel him, his thoughts, his emotions, his essence pulsating from him, as if touched by the stars themselves. He was a complex medley of yellows and golds and blues, a chaotic mess that was like staring into the galaxies themselves. It felt as if he stared long enough, the mysteries of the universe would unveil themselves to him. It was intoxicating, drawing him despite himself, but also overwhelming, overpowering him, despite his determination.

James turned to him and smiled again, a softer smile this time, one that wasn't as bright but just as warm. He briefly stared at his notes and then back at him before returning to the lesson. Spock quickly blushed again, his face burning even more, suddenly self-aware he had been staring at him for approximately 20.285 minutes, and more importantly, Jim had noticed. He was suddenly thankful to be in the back of the classroom far away from student's prying eyes and Mrs Garcia's harsh stares. He was making a fool of himself. He would not allow himself to make that mistake again. For the rest of class he stood ramrod straight, his eyes glued to the board, too embarrassed to even think about turning his head. He purged all stray thoughts, his attention solely focused on the lesson ahead. He put up his walls again, blocking him out as best as he could, but found he could not block him completely despite his best efforts.

What was wrong with me? Vulcans did not have lapses. Vulcans did not make mistakes, especially ones so blatant. Vulcans were supposed to be in control of their emotions. They weren't supposed to be tempted by such trivialities such as strange boys, as odd as they may be. No Vulcan would be thinking about him as much as he did, much less staring. Jim was an anomaly perhaps but only an example, irrelevant in the grand scheme of life. Yet here Spock was.

"vrekasht" "ashk'zl" "worla hiyet"

"outcast" "ashamed" "never enough."

I was never enough in their eyes. He may bleed green but his eyes, his eyes always gave it away. They were too kind, too human, too emotional, to ever be worthy of them. No matter how much he toiled, he laboured, he attempted to prove himself to them it was never enough. He could never be enough, could he? Why did he even try? But he still did. How he wanted their acceptance. And that was the worst part, he dreamed of it still. The very fact of his wanting was his demise because it proved how human he was. Perhaps they were right. he only seemed to prove that to them, and this was no exception. He had unintentionally but unabashedly shown emotion. More importantly, Jim had noticed, a grave error on his part that was unforgivable. His eyes always gave away too much, his face was a canvas he could never hide.

Jim's reaction had also been unexpected, though. When he saw him staring, he did not look away in disgust or fear, or any other discernible unpleasant emotion. There was only a gentle warmth, a kind amusement in his eyes that he did not expect to see from anyone, much less him. When he smiled too there was an acceptance in it, or something close to that. Perhaps he was looking too hard, though. Perhaps he was too tired, too delusional, too hopeful to think it was for him. Such thoughts only continued to make him a fool. It couldn't have been for him. It made no logical sense, an unnerving pattern that needed to be corrected quickly, he began writing the practices of Surak into his notebook, ingraining his teachings further into his memory. "I am in control of my emotions" I am in control of my emotions..." By the time class ended, he had written it 1,000 times, but it still didn't feel any truer.

XXX

"Where are you going?" Jim asked him at the end of class.

He looked at him in mild aversion. "I'm going to astrophysics II."

"Great! I have that class too, we can walk together."

He paused, unable to hide his incredulity but quickly pushed it down, forcing himself to wear a passive expression. "I don't think it would be wise. I will not be very efficient in arriving to class on time."

"That's okay, I don't know where the classroom is anyway, and I need to follow someone there. That or ask for directions. Either way, I'm going to be late." Spock paused, considering his argument. It made sense, and there was technically nothing wrong with aiding him to his class from a logical standpoint. Besides, Mrs Garcia had said to help him...

"Fine, but we must leave soon. We have approximately 4.35 minutes until class starts." He said, quickly walking out of the classroom. Jim beamed, footsteps pattering beside me.

"I don't think he caught your name, by the way."

"You may call me Spock."

"Spock..." Jim let the name slowly roll off his tongue, contemplating the syllable as if it were a line of prose. An odd look of reverie passed over his face before he snapped back into reality, smiling at him again. He always seemed to smile, even more than other humans.

For the next few minutes, they walked in silence, though it was not an uncomfortable one. Unlike most humans, Jim did not seem to feel the need to fill the void of silence, perfectly content to walk beside him; a trait he was grateful for. Humans never seemed to handle silence well, unable to cope with their own thoughts within their head or fear of what the other was thinking. He was different though, preoccupied in a world of his own. Spock recorded these thoughts to himself though, consciously ignoring the strange feeling building within him.

Jim continued following him to the next period, and then the next and the next. They quickly learned their schedules were identical, much to Spock's surprise. No one had ever been even close to his academic rigour. Here though was this boy that not only was equitable but rivalling him in all of their subjects. He was a force to watch in the classroom, not only engaging with the teachers but actively debating against them, raising questions at a level he had never seen before or since, jumping to seemingly impossible conclusions out of thin air. His intentions were never taken the wrong way though, containing no malice. The only drive was an insatiable curiosity, pushing the boundaries within every subject.

They soon inadvertently fell into a pattern, with Jim following him to every class and Spock leading the way. Spock did not object and soon even became accustomed to Jim being by his side, waiting for him at the end of every period. After 3 weeks Jim had clearly learned his schedule and location of his classes but continued to follow. A fact that Spock attempted not to give much thought despite the odd feeling it gave him.

While walking, they didn't talk much, or rather Spock didn't. As he became more comfortable, Jim began talking more. Spock did not mind though, finding his discussion and insight fascinating. Jim chattered about anything and everything, nothing was off-limits. Sometimes it was relevant to what they were learning, such as a physics problem or a poem they read in class. Other times it was completely irrelevant, such as a theoretical question, a random hypothetical, or some other stray thought or plan he had conjured out of thin air. Spock had come to expect this from him, though. His mind was chaotic, unpredictable, but organized in an enigma of a pattern Spock could not decipher. Jim's ability to connect information in unforeseeable ways is what made him brilliant, with no one being even close in comparison. Even Spock could admit he far exceeded his own intelligence in that way.

He never said much in reply but Jim didn't seem to mind either, carrying the conversation for the both of them. Every now and then Spock would offer a small comment to which Jim would turn and quickly smile at him, before carrying on with a litany of ideas he carried in his mind. At these times Spock looked away, unable to bear it. Jim was always too much when he smiled like that; it was as if being kissed by the sun.

When they walked, Spock was allowed to observe him as much as I'd like to. Through his talks, he soon learned a lot about Jim. He was compassionate for anything and everything, but especially humanity. He was obsessed with space and cultural societies, idolising the great travelling heroes like Odysseus. He was filled to the brim with compassion; it poured out of him with every action, every word, every being of his experience. Kindness radiated off him in illuminating outpouring waves of gold, shining in the light. He was emotional and dynamic, the more passionate he became, the more animated he was, gesticulating wildly with a dramatic expression as he chattered away. When he became especially compassionate, he would pause, as if overwhelmed by his own emotions, unable to contain them within himself. And yet, despite him being the exact opposite of Spock he didn't dislike him. In fact, in some naive capacity, he would say Jim liked him. But that was illogical, strange and untrue. History had indicated otherwise. Kindness did not come without a price.

One day he would tire of him, just like everyone else did. The novelty of the alien boy would wear off, and he would only be strange and ill-suited for him. At best they would become friendly acquaintances, kind strangers to one another. Sociability was never Spock's strong suit; he could never meet the needs humans required for social interaction. It was simply not in his nature. Jim would eventually realize their incompatibility, especially with him. He could never be enough to satisfy him, no matter how much Spock or Jim would want it, and Spock desperately wanted it. It would only be a matter of weeks, then he would slowly fade away, and be nothing more but a distant memory. If not him then by others, they would eventually turn him away from him. If not by choice but by force and he would leave for the sake of his safety. Either way, Spock would not blame him. It was reality. He could not expect more, even if Jim was an anomaly he was not an impossibility. No one was. He had long stopped wishing for miracles to appear. Such things were only confined to false fairytales mothers tell their children in the naivety of youth. Why be angry at the inevitable? Why hold contempt to fate when you could not control it? Acceptance was easier than bitterness and resentment, and it was illogical to hold such thoughts. It was the only way to survive. For now, Spock tried not thinking about the future, trying to live in the present and remember as much as he could so he could look back in fondness. He really did have such kind eyes.

**Author's Note **

Finished, sorry for the delay this took a lot of rewritings to do-I wanted to focus on getting an accurate voice of Spock since I'm writing in 1st person. To me, it's especially difficult since he's younger, so a lot of the trauma he's experienced has not fully happened yet to make him where he is in the first season. That being said, I think he's still very jaded (& angsty) because he is young and quite human, even if he denies it.

Also fun fact I have synesthesia so I also gave it partly to Spock. Mainly because for me it's the easiest way to explain emotion visually rather than with other words. I just feel it's inadequate to try to explain it in any other way.


	3. Chapter 3 A Question

**Chapter 3.**

It had been approximately 2 months 1 week 1 day 8 hours and 1 minute since Spock had met James when he asked him the question. They were walking together after school, both of them returning to their respective homes. This had been James's idea of course. As he put it, it was logical to have discussions about the material gained to further elaborate and deepen the concepts. Spock was inclined to agree and certainly was unopposed to walking with him, so long as both of their respective parents did not discover.

The air had turned characteristically bleaker by this time of year, with the end of fall quickly approaching as it morphed into the much-despised winter. Jame's breath produced small puffs of condensation now every time he exhaled, his face reddened from the cold. Spock himself had such clouds, but he efficiently covered his face, highly disliking any exposure to the cold.

"Do you want to work on the project together tomorrow after school?" Spock blinked once then twice, had he heard him correctly?

"Because I have soccer practice today, but I should be on Friday to help." Jim continued, not noticing Spock's sudden delay in thought. Spock suddenly realized the question was directed at him.

He stopped completely in his tracks, shocked, his brain overriding itself. When he noticed Spock not beside him James stopped too, turning around to look at him, a minor look of confusion etched on his face. All Spock could manage was let out a small pathetic 'what' in surprise.

"It's okay if you don't want to," Jim added quickly, mistaking his disbelief for something else. At the moment Spock didn't possess the physical capacity to correct him.

"But I think it'd be best if we work on the presentation together, combine ideas, collaborate, you know? Besides-" He scratched his head sheepishly. "I've been a bad partner and want to help."

Spock stared at him still in dumbfounded disbelief. They had been assigned partners for social studies class to give a research presentation about the causes of World War III and how this affected the formation of the Federation. The project had been assigned 3 days ago and was approximately due in a week. Typically, he did not mind such projects. He was accustomed to working independently and had become efficient at doing usually triple the coursework necessary to cover others and acquire an adequate grade on the project. James had already been better than most partners by giving him his notes on outside research, which was more than most had ever done previously.

He had never actually done a group project like it's intended purpose: in a group. This was primarily because people did not like being around him, but also the belief that they could rely on him for their grade because it affected his grade as well. They were of course, correct in their assumption as he was unwilling to have his grade falter for their folly. He also did not trust most of his peers to perform an adequate job, as they were prone to frequent bouts of procrastination and lying. A fact he quickly learned the hard way after several attempts to obtain more group participation.

"Besides, I think it would be...logical for us to work together," Jim smirked. Logical had become his favourite word recently. Peculiarly, around Spock, he had noted, as he used the word 25% more when directed to him compared to anyone else. He thinks it was what humans called teasing.

Spock let out a small huff annoyance, his brain suddenly rebooting itself back to the present. "Your help is appreciated but not necessary."

James looked at him, an odd look of disappointment crossing his face. Strange, why did he seem saddened by this revelation? Most would logically be satisfied with the fact of doing less than necessary. Did he not entrust him to complete an adequate job? That would be illogical as well, they both knew he would do so, so why did he looked saddened by this?

"It seems unfair to you Spock; I feel bad making you do it all by yourself."

Guilt washed over Spock, a sickly olive shade that had a feeling akin to being drenched in oil. On instinct, he scrunched his nose, the sensation of guilt coming from him unpleasant. He decided not to point out the fact that he had already done some work by giving him the notes, deciding this would not improve his mood.

"If you would truly like to he will be amenable to it," Spock appeased, his heart irrationally beating faster at the mere thought.

Jim grinned, the guilt washing away as quickly as it came, replaced with a warm yellow glow. "Let's meet at the school library after school then. We can do it there." With that, they departed to their respective homes.

XXX

Spock sat in the library studying, but his mind was irritatingly distracted. "Computer...search for human customs and culture."

"Specify." The robotic voice deadpanned.

"Meaning behind...a meeting of two acquaintances."

"Here are 1224 results for your search of "human customs—meaning behind a meeting of two acquaintances." He internally groaned and then cursed himself for worrying about such a trivial matter when he should be focused on completing his homework.

Despite everything though he could not help himself. How pathetic he was, he could never stop himself when it came to him. Despite his steel determination his mind continually wandered back to that moment, the look of disappointment when he had initially rejected him, the replacement smile beaming brighter than the sun, the air suddenly feeling warm despite the cold outside, his heart pounding inexplicably fast. Having an eidetic memory, especially one that is untamed, was a curse at times. He could remember every detail, the way Jim's eyes lit up when he talked like the sparks in a flame, the affectionate smile of teasing he gave him, one that could cause one to feel like it was solely for you. He had, much to his annoyance and disturbance, been distracted by him frequently of late. He had tried meditating, of course, but so far he could not stop his mind from wandering. It was at best bothersome, causing him to be 1.25% less efficient than his normal working capacity. At worst...well, he knew what it was at worst.

Besides, he was looking too much into this singular interaction and not considering the multitude of data points that would paint a much more accurate picture. The simple fact was that he was reading too much into this singular affair. It was only a meeting for academic intent, nothing more. As James had said, it was a logical discussion of ideas that would help efficiency. That was all that was said and implied. Jame's teasing smile was only his genial nature. His look of disappointment was one brought up by guilt for being an inadequate partner and nothing more. His beaming smile was simply the fact that Spock had acquiesced so that he would no longer feel guilty. There was nothing further to insinuate, James Kirk only saw him at most as an intellectual acquaintance, their meeting nothing more than business so to speak.

The logical part of him reminded him of this constantly. Humans are quite different towards each other than Vulcans. What may be considered intimate on Vulcan was merely kindness on Earth. Humans are naturally tactile, they yearn to be touched, they enjoy to tease, to laugh, to be intimate. They are emotional creatures and they attach easily, enamour easily, and do not fear to conceal their emotions either. They are expressional, seemingly incapable to contain everything within themselves so they must use their bodies as outlets. This also applied to James. He was very human, and this could not be overlooked. Spock's shock was only due to the fact that he was unaccustomed to having such kindness directed at him. To overstep and read into it any more was not only foolish but also dangerous.

So why did he think there was anything more? Why, despite logic screaming at him not to, did he dare to hope? How could he even think there could be anything more between them? And why did he harbour a distinct feeling of sickness whenever he thought of anything more? It was not like Spock disliked him in any capacity, quite the opposite. The thought of seeing him though outside of school made his stomach feel like it was doing flips within itself. His hands shook, his lips, tremored, and his head pounded whenever such thoughts occurred. All of these were psychosomatic, though, only physiological symptoms that were a manifestation of unrest in his mind. He was anxious for some reason, but the reason mystified him. Still, all unpleasant emotions had the same solution at its core: to find the problem and stop it or to control the symptoms enough to make it bearable. The latter, of course, had been a complete failure-there was no stopping such anxieties without intense meditation and even then he knew it would only stave it for a few hours. That then led to the former: solving the problem in the first place.

He contemplated the matter for a while, easily dissecting and sorting his emotions like one would sort a pile of blocks into colour and size, organising the useful information and weeding out all irrelevant details. It was definitely not James; he did not feel any other unpleasant emotion when he thought of him in any other manner besides the apparent invitation. Nor did he find the interaction with him to be particularly scarring, perhaps a nuisance at the most, but insignificant to his symptoms. That then led the proposition, and the actual idea of going that was troubling him. Yes, it was the unknown, the inability to know Jame's true intentions that made him worried. After all, humans by nature frequently have communication difficulties within their own species, and as a Vulcan, this was only amplified. Normally he would not care but this was James, and he found that he did not want to misconstrue nor cause any harm to their current relationship, mainly for the sake of him.

How was he to find an adequate solution, though? There was no one to ask about such a matter. He had no other acquaintances he remotely felt comfortable talking to, especially on such a personal matter. He knew that even if he attempted to ask they would only mock him for such strange displays of emotion. The internet could be of use but from past experience it had a pattern of often being unhelpful at best and outright wrong at worst. It was too unreliable to risk asking online. He knew both his parent's answers on the matter. His mother would only question the matter more to an extent he did not want to explain. His father would be disappointed, in terms of a Vulcan, in the idea of him even experiencing such uncontrolled emotions. Such discussions would only lead to it backfiring. He had long stopped talking to them about anything remotely personal, as it only led to discord and discomfort. He considered asking Michael or Sybok, but they were far away on Vulcan with their own lives. He was also estranged from both and was uncomfortable reaching out to them for this particular reason. They were only family out of obligation or blood, not in bond or soul. There was one to talk to unless...

How could he have forgotten? Of course J! He began writing vigorously his letter to his secret correspondent. Yes, J would know what to do. Or at least he could offer him an unbiased, accurate opinion on the matter that would be in favour of him. He was the only one who could possibly understand his predicament, or at least care enough to try to. If he couldn't at least writing it out would help so that he could analyze it logically and perhaps obtain a solution. So, he wrote:

_"Dear J,_

_I apologize that I have not written to you as of late. I have been preoccupied with the coursework required of me. That is not to say I disvalue our friendship nor that his behaviour is excusable, but I feel you should know the truth. I know you value his honesty as much as I do yours._

_In truth, I write not purely out of regard to pure friendship. I have a predicament, and I would like your advice on the matter. There is a boy in his grade that I have become acquainted with. He is illogical, emotional, passionate and goes against everything that I stand for. You would think I would despise such a person, but I find I do not. In fact, in an odd way, I am fond of him. His passion for life is magnanimous and electrifying. I have never met such a compassionate and kind being. There is warmth to him I cannot quite explain, an attraction even I cannot deny I am immune to. He is the embodiment of the sun. He is an anomaly, but not necessarily strange. I do not know if he reciprocates such feelings of warmth towards me. I am conflicted on what exactly our relationship is and what I should do about it._

_I tell you these conditions as a prerequisite to the conundrum I face. We are currently working on a group project together. He has proposed to meet after school with him in approximately 2 days to help him with this project. I know this is illogical, but I cannot help but be apprehensive for some reason. I do not know if it is a good idea to go with him. My feelings...of fondness toward him are not only strange but also dangerous. You must understand these feelings he gives me are unhealthy. As a Vulcan, to have such strong feelings indicates weakness, an inability to control one's emotions. To be ruled by emotions is to be ruled by chaos, and that is a dangerous rule to live by. Our ancestors purged emotion because it brought such violence and suffering to our people. I follow the Surak teachings for the same reasons. To not repress such emotions but allow them to grow in any capacity would not only be dangerous to him but him as well. I do not want to endanger either of us, but I also do not want to disappoint him either. I find I am weak when it comes to rejecting him in any form, an emotional weakness I am certain._

_I do not want to injure him in any capacity. He is one of the few beings who has ever treated him with kindness and I wish to reciprocate that. He does not deserve such abuse. Perhaps, if I was born human then it would be different... but such wishful thoughts are illogical and cruel when compared to reality. Please give me your advice. I need an unbiased viewpoint who understands people more than I. I genuinely do not know what to do._

_-S"_

XXX

In the morning when he visited the library, he had already written a response.

_"Dear S,_

_I read your letter last night. Your writing definitely surprised me, it kind of scared me if I'm honest. I've never heard you sound so...emotional, if you will. The only time I can recall that came even remotely close was when we were discussing that physics problem, but even that doesn't compare. I honestly don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this. I'm not great at these sort of things and I don't know if his advice is the best one. But since you asked I'll try my best to give you my best answer._

_If you want my honest advice, I think you should go to the meeting. I don't know much about Vulcan physiology and emotions, but I know you. When it comes down to it, I don't think this is only about Vulcan biology. I think, at least a part of you, is scared for some reason. I don't know why you are, but you seem to be. Emotions are not logical but they are normal, especially in unfamiliar scenarios. But S, you can't just live your life being scared to do things. Emotions aren't bad necessarily, but if you let them control you, you'll never get anything done. Isn't that why Vulcans are so disciplined in the first place?_

_You obviously sound like you care a lot about this guy, and it sounds like he does too. I think you're overreacting for nothing. Not to say your emotions are unimportant or that I'm devaluing the situation, just that in the grand scheme of things you need perspective on the matter. It doesn't sound like he dislikes you, and you don't seem opposed to being around him either. The choice is ultimately up to you, though. If you don't think it's a good idea, then don't go. You know yourself the best, but I think you already know your answer. If nothing else, since he invited you, I think it would be rude not to go. One visit definitely won't kill you, and it is unlikely to make or break your relationship. Humans are not as logical, they're much more variable when it comes to such matters. They also tend to be very forgetful and forgiving compared to Vulcans. Just remember to smile and relax, and have a good time._

_-J"_

He stared at the note in contemplation and confusion, rereading the messy scrawl once and then twice. Was he that obvious? How could he be so obvious to a stranger but not even himself? But he was right. It was a hard truth to swallow that a stranger could know him better than himself. But he wasn't a stranger, was he? No, he was more than that. Strangers do not care, strangers cannot read you like an open book. Strangers do not experience memories the ones we do. We were friends, albeit a bit strangely. That thought set his mind at ease.

He was also right; he had already made his decision, despite his aversions. He ultimately decided to accept his advice, so he met him after school.

**Author's Note **

Sorry for the shorter Chapter, but it'll make up with the next one. I also decided to switch it to the third person instead of the first. I don't think it impacts how the story is told that much and it's a lot easier actually. I've also read for fanfiction it's easier to in the third person. Poor Spock, and his emotional antics, unfortunately, it's only just going to get more emotional for him though. Thank you for reading, and please leave a comment on what you think!


	4. Chapter 4 The Proposition

**Chapter 4. **

"Hey Spock, I know we said we would meet in the library but I have a different place in mind," Jim said.

He raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "And where would that be?"

Jim waggled his eyebrows, smirking. Spock's suspicion only increased. "It's a secret, just trust me on this, okay? Meet me at the front of the school and make sure to bring all your stuff!" He said, running down the hallway. Spock shook his head; he would never understand him.

XXX

The place Jim decided to take them was a cafe or rather the semblance of one, with the word being the most accurate but wholly inadequate way to describe it. On the exterior, it didn't even appear to be a building, but one stuck in between two large buildings where an alleyway should have been built. It was as if the architecture hadn't planned on building a building in the location but decided to do it anyway. The width was not even wide enough to hang a storefront sign, except a metal stand in the front written in chalk on annoyingly bright and cheery large letters, listing all the specials and a cartoonish depiction of what he assumed to be a domesticated young feline and canine in a cup with the title 'cat-pup chino.' Spock did not understand, nor did he care to, to find the humour in such an inaccurate and troubling depiction. On the glass door there was a sign hung annoyingly crookedly written in large calligraphy letters in white chalk the word 'open'.

"It's a building."

"Looks can be deceiving, come on, let's go in. It's cold outside." Jim said, winking.

Inside was a considerably different story, much to Spock's surprise. The first sensation he experienced was a well-welcomed warmth. The second was the distinct smell of roasted coffee and various sugary confections, the aroma drifting in the air, pervasive to his especially keen senses. The inside was a simple and quaint cafe, and while still restricted, it appeared much more spacious than possible from the outside configuration. The place had the semblance of being a living antique, a relic trapped in time from a bygone era. It caused a nostalgic feeling, a feeling of longing for a place to call home. The closest place Spock could remember was his grandmother's house when he visited her on Earth. They had stayed with her for a week when he was eight with his mother, his father choosing not to go. During that time he fondly remembered as one of the few happy childhood memories he had. It was even similar in the creaking floorboards and wooden bar stools aged from wear and time. He walked over the floorboards, stepping carefully, the ground smoothed from foot indentations from the sands of times.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness, which was softly lit with old Edison bulbs, giving it an antiquated but warm atmosphere. He looked over at the walls, the chipped white paint scarcely discernible, hidden under a plethora of hodgepodge plastering the wall. They were old posters of iconic Terran actors and celebrities from centuries past, artistic quotations in barely legible calligraphy, and impressionistic paintings tastefully tossed into the clutter. They were attached in no discernible order, seemingly thrown on the wall based on available space, but done with artistic care and precision. There was a love in the room that permeated throughout it, a warmth that he did not know he was missing until that moment. He could see why James had chosen such a place.

The place was surprisingly uncrowded, with only a young pair or two sitting in the remote corners, chatting softly with one another, reading a book or studying. A gentle hum of classical Terran music played, and though indiscernible of its contents it was oddly...comforting. A small fireplace in the back roared, and though like most fireplaces, only a hologram, it gave off crackling embers, simulating a real fire. In the back corner stood a library of sorts, with a small worn woollen maroon rug and even older green couches erected in the corner, as if they had stood there from the beginning of time. The stuffing pulled out of them, uneven and aged, but appealing, nonetheless. Behind, a large wooden bookshelf towered over them, filled to the brim with old leatherback books with gilded titles he could not discern.

They went to the desk to order drinks. James ordered a complex sugary concoction that sounded like a walking trap for diabetes more than an actual beverage: a vanilla frappuccino with three extra shots of vanilla and sugar with condensed milk, whipped cream and caramel on top. Spock opted for a more simple and less diabetic inducing drink of green tea.

After, they selected a table towards the back and sat. In a few minutes, their drinks arrived. They were carried by a 20-year-old barista looking to Spock more akin to a punk bandmate than a cafe worker. She had vivid purple hair and heavy black eyeliner with black lips and nose piercing as well. She wore the typical barista outfit, but in such a manner it looked strikingly wrong on her. A black choker hung from her neck along with skull earrings, further signs of rebellion against a limited dress code. She looked at him piercingly, her eyes revealing nothing. She then smiled snarkily at James, though with affection, much like Michael did when Spock was younger and she was teasing him. Jim beamed back.

"Your teeth are going to rot out if you keep drinking crap like that."

Jim rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I won't live forever, Veronica. Thanks, though." He mumbled, heartily slurping it.

She shook her head in mock disbelief. "Your choice. Now you boys play nice. Especially you Jim." She said, giving Jim a wink. He then nearly choked on his drink, suddenly intent on staring at the white froth smearing his face. Spock merely sipped his tea, choosing to not interpret the comment any further.

James looked up at him. "Sorry for the walk, I know you'd probably prefer the library, but I figured you already did most of your research already and well..." He trailed off, grasping for the right words.

"I thought...I don't know...you might like it." He ultimately ended lamely.

"I am amenable to such changes in the environment, besides, I find this place...adequate for our purposes," He said simply.

"Well, it also has the best coffee in the world!" Jim said, his pupils dilating 15% as he downed the whole drink. Spock suddenly began to understand the phrase 'sugar high.'

"Alright then, now that he got all of his caffeine, let's get started!" Spock had a sudden sinking feeling they would not be very productive.

XXX

In the span of 1 hour and 15 minutes, Spock made 2 key observational conclusions about James. The first was that he had an extreme addiction to sugar, consuming approximately 200 grams of sugar in 45 minutes and would have likely consumed more if not for the fact that he ran out of money. The second being he was distracting, very distracting. The problem was not him exactly, but his mannerisms, which the caffeine and sugar concoctions only amplified. He fidgeted a total of 251 times and counting: including tapping his pencil, stomping his foot, doodling on paper, biting on the end of the cap, scratching his head and other small but unnerving actions, seemingly not noticing the distraction he was causing him. Individually they weren't terrible but combined with the fact that he was sitting in close vicinity and he did them continually they became rather irksome. It severely limited Spock's capacity to pay attention, dropping his efficiency by at least 10%.

Jim yawned, stretching back in his chair, his arms outstretched towards the ceiling. "Alright, I'm done."

"Have you finished your notes for your presentation?"

"Yeah, most at least. I might do some more later this week, but it's good enough for now."

Spock did not believe him. He grabbed his notebook, flipping it over and scanning his notes. In it was a messy scrawl that could barely be considered handwriting. Instead, it was figures inscribed in blue ink of contained chaos. From the few words he could read there appeared to be notes, which were only half sensical. Besides notes, there was a litany of other distractions-cartoon depictions of stars and planets, ideas and questions, song lyrics, random quotes and thoughts-all completely irrelevant to the subject. It seemed to be an exact reflection of Jim's mind, jumping from one idea to the next, never staying on one topic only. He continued flipping through the pages.

"Uh Spock wait, maybe you shouldn't—-"

In the front of his notebook, he discovered, much to his fascination and horror, a crude drawing of him. Beside it was a mock form of poetry.

"_There once was a boy named Spock—_

_His beauty left people in shock._

_He wore not a bikini,_

_But a hideous beanie. _

_And he wondered why kept staring at the clock." _

His eyes widened in incredulity; he looked up from the notebook straight at James, who now was completely avoiding all eye contact with him, shrinking back in his chair. His face was a brilliant red, and in the easiest comparison was the shade of a tomato.

"Hey, well...um... I mean..." He fumbled, for once not knowing what to say.

He kept looking back between the three images: the terrible drawing, the even worse poem, and his face of utter embarrassment. Spock suddenly laughed before he could stop himself, a slight chuckle escaping him. James looked up at him, in pure shock and then joy. Spock turned his face away, covering his mouth and flushing green, his cheeks burning. The heat was suddenly stifling in the room.

"That was the first time I heard you laugh. You should do that more often."Jim said softly. He managed to glance sideways at him, still not brave enough to meet his eyes.

"It is not the way of my people."

"So what? It's nothing to be ashamed of...it's natural!" Spock glared at him in slight annoyance.

"My people...are, as you would put it...not fond of emotion. They believe it to be a sign of weakness, a lack of control."

"Spock..." He grabbed his hands. Spock turned to him, his face even hotter than before.

"There's nothing wrong with showing your emotions, even if for a little bit. Now I don't understand a lot about your culture, but everyone, regardless of race, class, species, or anything else, should be allowed to express themselves." He said.

An inflow of thoughts flooded his senses. An orchestra of bold hues of yellows and browns and warm reds melted together in harmony before his eyes. The sensation overpowered his senses, completely destroying his defensive shields against him. From his touch, he could discern shallow thoughts from him. Words flooded into him before he could hinder them.

"Warmth," "comfort" "happiness" "friend"

The last one stuck onto him, even when he pulled away from his hands, the residue of Jame's energy still pulsating off of him.

James took back his notebook, and hastily drew something, concealing it with his hands like a treasured secret. He then handed it back to Spock. On it was another set of crude drawings of him. One was labelled 'grumpy Spock' with what he assumed how his usually stoic face appeared to James. The second one though was titled 'happy Spock' and depicted a very unvulcan, unflattering and disconcerting image of him apparently 'happy.' Spock frowned slightly.

"Your artistic skill is quite limited."

"Well, I'm no Michelangelo, but I can draw accurately in my own way. Besides, I bet you can't do much better, let me see your notes." He lunged forward but Spock seized it first, stuffing them into his bag.

Jim crossed his arms and pouted, his lip protruding like that of a five-year-old. "You're no fun. You're not being fair. You got to look at mine."

"My notes are not very stimulating. They are merely their intended purpose."

He rolled his eyes. "Suuure they are. Just like you don't laugh or smile. I bet you have tons of secrets in there, like a treasure map or a cure for Rigellian flu! I wouldn't even be surprised if you had a model for the newest Federation ship! Come on Spock, you're keeping all the world's secrets to yourself! After all, you're a very mysterious person." He said, tauntingly wagging his finger in front of him. Spock merely shook his head, letting out a slight sigh of irritation.

He turned to me, a more serious look on his face. "This was fun, though. We should do this more often. he like you outside of school...you're different."

"The next school project is not until approximately 20 days in Mrs Garcia's class, though I suppose factoring other classes perhaps—"

"That's not what he meant!" Jim exclaimed, letting out a large exasperated sigh in pure dramatism.

"I'm not talking about working together on school work! I'm talking about hanging out together for fun, you know, as friends." Spock stared at him in incredulity. Had he heard him correctly?

"Spock. Are you okay?" He blinked, his brain suddenly unable to answer.

"Spock, I'm serious are you okay?" Jim's eyes widened in fear.

"I'm fine..." He managed to say, his brain rebooting itself back into existence.

"Are you sure?" He asked, his eyes looking at him, still concerned.

"Your proposition merely took him by...surprise." Spock managed to fumble out, the words coming out awkward and wrong.

"Why-wait have you never had a friend before?"

"Not in the human way..." He admitted, his voice suddenly faint.

His face softened. "Spock...there's nothing wrong with that. There's always time for a first. You're also his first Vulcan friend. It'll be a first for both of us."

He still stared at him in disbelief. "You barely know me."

"Well of course I don't know you! Not yet at least. We haven't become friends yet."

He straightened up, staring mock seriously at him. "I guess I'll make a formal proposition then. Do you, Mr Spock, accept the contract of forming a friendship with me, James T Kirk?" He said, grinning.

"What are the requirements for such a contract?"

"We talk at least once a day in school, except for one not being present, meeting outside of school at least once every other week, and all general educated bantering continues.  
There is an agreed promise of respect to one another's lives, opinions, and properties, even if it drives the other person insane, and the formation of a bond of trust to last for a lifetime. Secrets are to be kept from the other if one is uncomfortable to share them with the other, except involving the party, or it would cause potential harm to the other party. Any violations will be discussed with each party, with negotiations and changes being amenable as long as both parties agree to said changes and said contract can be terminated if both parties agree."

Spock paused, thinking it over. "I accept your proposal." he smiled a shadow of a smile. He beamed again.

"Well, Mr Spock, it was a pleasure conducting business with you."

"And you as well Mr James."

"Call him Jim. If we're going to be friends, you should call him Jim. Everyone does, well except adults I guess, or when my parents get mad. Still, James is too formal for this contract."

"All right...Jim." The words slowly came off his tongue, feeling strange and foreign. Was this okay? This felt almost too casual, too _personal_. But he had wanted it right? Jim smiled again in reassurance, but it was gentler this time, and infinitely warmer. They sat together for the rest of the evening, only talking together and nothing more, the project completely disregarded.

XXX

"You are late by 15 minutes." Spock didn't reply, the fact was known. Besides, anything he said would be unsatisfactorily insufficient. He placed his backpack on the ground, unable to meet his father's eyes. Instead, he stared at the ground, deciding that was the safest option.

"What is the reason for your late attendance?"

"I was working on a school project. I was unaware of the time, making a late departure."

"This inability to keep track is unbecoming of you. Why did you not send a message prior to tell of your tardiness?"

"I forgot to." He lied. In truth, he hadn't wanted to. He had wanted to forget about home for a moment. By the time he realised the consequences for his actions he knew it would be too late anyway. He knew there would be consequences. There always were for imperfection, and he was always imperfect in his eyes.

"Why did you need to work on your project outside of home? There are plenty of resources at your disposal." Father said, his tone revealing nothing. A genuine Vulcan at his core, a fact he prided in and one that Spock was constantly reminded of.

"I required other resources not found at home, so I went to the library to conduct further research." He lied again, his tone even, trying hard to not reveal anything. He looked up for a moment, his eyes blank.

Father stared at him, his piercing eyes like a manufacturer checking a product for any defects, any mishaps, any emotion behind his eyes. He stared back, revealing nothing. He had long become accustomed to such stares. Despite his inner instinct to curl in a ball and hide, he fought against it, standing firm, the only reveal being the slight tremor in his hand. He clamped it down. He could not afford to expose weakness in front of him. He could not afford to reveal anything. Father finally turned away, his back facing towards him.

"This inability to return home in an efficient manner without warning is unacceptable. It is late, though, we will discuss an adequate punishment later. You may continue your studies in your room. Then you must go to bed after 2 hours. Understood?"

"Yes, sah-mekh" he replied. Without another word, he went upstairs to his room.

Once he had shut the door, he managed to let out a small breath of relief. He was still quiet, wary of him being outside the door. Even in the absence of his presence, he still felt his glare, his stomach turning within hi8m. He did not need to be there to instil fear, the fact of his potential presence was enough. He will never get used to this. Now that he was alone though he allowed his mind to wander freely, allowing emotion to cross his face. He reminisced about the past few hours and a slight smile formed on his face. He thought about Jim's smile, his red face, his odd antics and movements, their conversations...

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. He quickly straightened, the mask returning. He opened the door, but it was only his mother. He slightly relaxed, having not realized he had become tense, but only minutely.

She smiled softly at him. "How are you, Spock?"

"I am adequately prepared for the project."

"That's not what he meant." She said, reaching out to touch him. He moved away. He was far too old for such affectionate touches. They both knew that. She pulled back her hand.

"Do you want anything to eat? I still have some leftover plomeek soup on the stove if you'd like."

"I already ate."

"Really? What did you eat? I don't recall any restaurants being near the library..."

"I...grabbed some food at a stand on the way home. I knew that I would not be home in adequate time for dinner." He lied. She looked about to say something but stopped herself, eyeing him suspiciously.

"All right then, I'll leave you back to your studies. Good night, Spock."

"Good night, Mother."

**Author's Note **

And here we conclude Jim & Spock's first 'date'. I know it might seem a little fast but to me for the sake of the storyline, it feels a bit natural, considering they've already been hanging out for weeks on end already. I tried not to make the scene not as rushed as possible in the sense of mostly Jim moving too fast that felt uncomfortable. Mind you, they're both teenagers still so the characters that we know and love them today are not quite there..yet.

Fun Fact: I based this coffee shop on that of Tattered Covers Bookstore in Colorado. It's one of my favourite bookstores, look it up online and I highly recommend going if you're ever in Denver.


	5. Chapter 5 Chess

**Chapter 5. **

_"Dear J,_

_I followed your recommendation and met with him. The results were fascinating, I have somehow managed to make another friend, or at least I believe I did. It is honestly difficult to ascertain, I'm not exactly sure where the line between friendship and acquaintance is in Terran culture. On Vulcan, friends do not exist. There is simply your family, your tribe, and your betrothed. There are, of course, acquaintances, but nothing really holds the weight friend does in modern Vulcan culture. By nature, we are an independent species._

_It feels odd to call him a friend, or even to claim I possess a friend in person. The closest before was you, but even then I sometimes doubt your existence. Sometimes it feels as if I'm writing to myself. With him though, he's real, and a constant reminder of that. The idea of him, out of all people though, being my friend is not as strange. I honestly do not know how much of our relationship has changed since the clarification. Our interactions have not changed, nor does it 'feel' any different. We still act the same around one another more or less, with the exception that we see each other more often. It almost feels natural, like the eventual progression of such companionship was inevitable. Then again, I do not have any other basis of comparison so perhaps I am incorrect in my assessment. I find myself quite undereducated in human social affairs._

_I do not know how long this friendship will last. I know it is illogical to worry about such a matter, but I cannot help myself. Experience has taught me to be prepared for every situation, and I am wholly unprepared in this situation. There are simply too many variables to consider, too many unpredictable things that could happen. I could say the wrong thing, look the wrong way, or even not say something and it could be over. Humans are fickle creatures by nature, and I still do not understand them enough to know their reactions. Every human it seems has an unpredictable reaction that is impossible to predict. I fear every action, every word, every glance is just one step towards the end. The very fact of not knowing causes me to be at unease. I worry that one day I will wake up and it will end, that this a dream or some cruel joke. It would not be the first time either. I worry that one day he may just tire of me, or hate me, or become bored of me. Everything that has gone wrong in any acquaintance has happened already, so it should be no surprise that this friendship cannot end well either. I simply cannot be compatible with people, and that is the reality. I try not to think of such fears, but it is constantly persistent._

_Yet, there is still a small part of me that does not believe this. It does not believe the fate from experience is inevitable. Somehow it believes that the situation can change and I should not be resigning myself so easily. After all, I did not think I would ever have a friend and yet I have two now. Jim Kirk has a strange way of making the statistics seem irrelevant. He makes the impossible seem is strange in that way but I do not oppose it. I have learned logic cannot answer everything. I think the feeling is what humans call hope._

_Anyway, I wish you well,_

_-S"_

XXX

"Do you have a padd number?" Jim asked, looking up from his padd.

"Affirmative."

Though it was not by choice but logical necessity. It was a requirement by the school in order to access all the academic literature in the library. His parents also wished to be able to contact him at any time in case of emergencies.

"Then let's exchange padd numbers."

"That is illogical. You already see me enough in the day if you need to tell me any pertinent information. On the off chance you do need to contact me outside of school, which is 0009 to 1,000, you could always email me or locate my padd number in the school registries."

Jim rolled his eyes at him. "It's not the same, Spock. There's a difference between looking up padd numbers and having contacts for each other. It's just a social norm; a thing human friends tend to do with another. Just humour me on this." He handed Spock his padd. Spock then typed in his contact information.

"Oh! You also need to add an emoji!"

"A what?"

Jim snorted. "What are you? 80? An emoji is a small cartoon image I can identify you with. It's mostly a shortcut for when I search your name. Emojis also symbolise certain meanings and ideas. For instance, hearts," He said, pulling up a wide array of cartoonish anatomically incorrectly shaped 'hearts'.

"signify friendship or family. Here, I'll pick one for you."

He quickly flipped through a thousand screens, each animated face expressing various emotions. Why one would require such creations was beyond Spock, but he often did not understand human norms, especially when it came to modern times. He especially did not see why would one use a cartoonish figure to signify someone when their name sufficed, nor see the need to define one's relationship with someone using a symbol either. Humans were strange in that way, though. It is what made them unique. Jim eventually decided on a cartoonish green heart, after not finding, to his disappointment, any emojis to represent a Vulcan.

"And I need a photo." He posed the padd towards him.

"Smile!" He did not.

Jim looked at the photo and giggled. Out of curiosity, Spock bent over to look at the image. Now by his contact information stood a less than flattering image of himself. Jim's photography skills were certainly astounding, but not in a complimentary way. He had somehow managed to capture a photo of him at such an angle to completely distort the image in the worst way possible. The way he had taken it caused Spock's head to appear disproportionately large on his head like a balloon on a stick. Not to mention he had captured him at an opportune moment making him have a rather odd and emotional expression on his face.

He scowled slightly, turning away. "That is not an adequate representation of me."

"Come on Spock, it's not like anyone is going to see it, except for me." That only made it worse. He glared.

"Fine, you can retake it," Jim said, rolling his eyes. He handed the padd to him. Spock captured a couple more photos, editing them to how he liked. He finally selected an acceptable photo, replacing it as his contact image.

"You're no fun." He teased.

"My turn now!" Jim snatched Spock's padd, quickly typing in his contact information and adding a yellow heart by his name (because it matched his hair—which Spock found oddly fitting).

Panic suddenly overrode Spock as he realised that he would also want to take a contact photo, which meant there would evidence of him on his padd, which meant his Father would likely find out. "James, you don't need to add a contact photo." He quickly said, attempting to snatch it back.

"Nonsense, how else are you going to find him in all of your contacts then?" Jim zoomed out, revealing all his contacts. His face suddenly faltered. Spock snatched the padd back.

"Spock..."

"It is of no importance," He said, his voice turning cold and bitter.

Fury and embarrassment compounded within him, a bitterness that left a distasteful stain on his mouth. He turned away, unable to face him. It was unfair to place his anger at Jim, though. It was not his fault. He did not know. How could he have known that he was his only other friend? How could he have known that he was only the 6th contact in his padd? How could he have known how pathetic he was? He had never informed him of any of this, so it was illogical to think he would know. Therefore, it was illogical to be angry at him. But he was angry at him and hated himself for the fact that he was, only strengthening his fury further.

"Wait...I still want to take a photo, though." Jim looked at him, dead serious.

A flash came over his eyes for a moment, something had changed within him. There was a hardness, a bitterness Spock had not seen before, nor did he expect. He did not have the heart to tell him no, so he lamely held out his padd for him to take.

Jim took the photo, then messed around with it, handing him back the padd. "Here you go," He said, his voice soft. The bell rang, class was starting again.

For the rest of the day, they did not talk much. There was nothing for once Spock wanted to say to him, nor did Jim seem to have anything to say either. The event weighed heavily down upon both of them; an unspoken wall had formed from the incident, and neither wanted to address it. Rather, he didn't think either knew how to address it. It was silent walk the way back home as well, neither even saying goodbye at the end. It was not the comfortable silence from before where they were content in their minds. This one was more painful and uncomfortable. Every now and then Spock would turn to him and attempt to say something to break the silence but nothing came to mind. His voice always became silent every time he tried to speak. He was also still angry at him and hated himself for it. Jim seemed lost in himself, his face clouded. Deep waves of grey like that a storm washed over Spock, like that of a drowning boat at sea. he decided it was best not to disturb him.

When he got home, Spock opened his padd again in his room. To his surprise, Jim had already written a message to him. He quickly skimmed it over:

"Sorry Spock, I know you're angry at me. I know it was unfair to you to look without asking. I'm sorry for looking without permission. In all honesty, I don't think there is anything to be ashamed of. If anything, everyone is missing out, not you. You're an amazing person, and I don't think it matters how many contacts you have. Quality over quantity, right? Anyway, I think you should still keep my contact photo. I know it isn't logical, but I like the idea of it being on your phone." He shook my head, finding himself smiling. He then switched over to the contact photo.

It was a smiling photo of Jim, his face beaming like the usual sun. He grinned rather cheekily at the camera, winking as if divulging in a secret between the camera and him. While the photo could not completely capture his beauty it did it adequately well enough. His hair glowed from the afternoon sunlight, shining like that of a sunrise. His deep hazel eyes stared curiously at him, warm and inviting. His skin glowed like a Greek marble statue. Spock sighed, he truly was beautiful.

He paused over the photo, his hands trembling It all seemed too good to be true. This could not be real. This could not be happening, could it? But it was, and there was evidence. Here was evidence of it. Even though it was a small insignificant photo that Jim had likely only spent five seconds on, to him it meant the world. Because it was proof he was real, and proof that he was his friend. It was a shred of proof that this was not a dream or a cruel joke, at least for now.

He told himself he would delete it later. If his father found it, it would be the end of not only their friendship but his entire life on Earth. Normally that thought would have sparked some amount of joy, but he found himself not wanting to leave Earth anymore. Not if it meant parting with his only friend. This would be his secret, and he would carry it close to his heart. Still, he found himself inclined not to delete it immediately. He wanted to memorise every part of it, every detail, so it would be preserved in his memory to look at whenever he wished. He wanted to remember everything about it, just like Jim. He told himself he would delete it in the morning. He never deleted the photo.

XXX

"It's called chess, Spock," Jim explained, twiddling with what appeared to be a miniature figure of a horse.

"Have you ever played before?"

"Negative." He stared intently at the black and white checkered board, intent on deciphering it.

They were sitting in the main cafeteria tables after school. The reason, like most events out of the ordinary, was because of Jim. Jim had wanted to try what he called an 'after school club', specifically, the chess club. He said he did not want to go alone though, so after much deliberation and persuasion on his part, he managed to force Spock to accompany him. Spock normally would have refused, but after asking him 42 times over 3 days he finally acceded so Jim would stop asking. Besides, he knew he would eventually say yes anyway. He secretly could never say no to him, not when he was persistent enough about the matter. A fact that was becoming more apparent and troublesome as he continued to rope him into strange and elaborate schemes he ended up regretting. This appeared to be one of them.

Spock looked around, suddenly self-conscious of his surroundings. He typically avoided all nonrequired large social gatherings like the plague. The last large social gathering he went to was the pep school dance in freshman year. A girl had asked him to go so he went out of social obligation. It had been terrible; everything he disliked about large groups of people was only magnified. Here, though it was quite smaller, it was still stifling. He could sense all the inadvertent stares directed at him, the whispers behind his back, the hushed wall of silence around him. He could feel their fear and odd curiosity, their anticipation to know more. He could feel the shock, the awe, the strange curiosity at his existence there. It was not him there were just staring at, though. It was who he was with.

James Kirk always attracted attention, regardless of who else was in the room. This was no exception. Up until this point they had not been around each other in school. They, of course, talked during school but only in passing between classes. In class, they did not sit nor talk together, which was more of his preference than his. And every time they had been together for extended periods it was outside of school. He doubted anyone had even assumed that James Kirk could have a friend like him. Even to him, the very thought was absurd, and this was only amplified by the fact that Jim had brought him here as well. He did not know if people even knew he was capable of having friends. He even at times had wondered. To them, it was if it was pigs flying, the perfect golden boy and the perpetual recluse. If not for James he would have already left the room to escape the stares but he promised him he would stay. Despite his stomach tying knots within itself, he would fulfil this promise. Spock tried filtering out the extra noise, focusing solely on the task at hand. James didn't notice it at all, oblivious to his surroundings as usual.

"Spock, are you listening?" He snapped out of his train of thought.

"No," He admitted.

Jim smiled at him sympathetically. "Sorry, I'll say it again. As he was saying, it's not a game based on luck. It's one of skill and strategy. To win, you have to not only understand how to win, but how to prevent your opponent from winning as well. In short, you have to create a strategy that gives you the upper hand without your opponent knowing. It's sort of a psychology game too because you have to predict your opponent's moves as well. The end goal is not to win, but to survive. You achieve this by killing their king." He said, motioning towards a long piece with a pointed end.

"Chess is like a war game between two kingdoms, so to speak. Each 'king' has its own players and army, with unique moves and abilities. For example, the front row is comprised of the foot soldiers, the pawns. They can move forward one or two spaces, but never backwards, nor left or right. They can kill other pieces but only those directly diagonal of them. They're usually considered the most dispensable pieces in the game but can become invaluable if used correctly." He said, demonstrating their moves. He continued, carefully explaining each piece and their required moves.

"Now, knowing these moves, you can use these to work together to build a strategy. You then use it to force the king into a position where he has no possible moves of escape. When that's done, it's called a checkmate. Then the game is over. Easy enough?" Spock nodded, slowly understanding the rules and various manipulations within them, formulating a strategy on the board.

"Shall we play a round then?" Spock nodded. Jim moved his first pawn.

Spock rapidly grasped the basic concepts, manipulating them onto the board with ease. He managed to place him into check several times, but Jim always managed to easily manoeuvre out of it, his strategy shifting with every single move. Jim was an impossible player to predict, which made it all the more frustrating. His strategy was an enigma, a constantly shifting variable that was unpredictable, sporadic, just like his mind. It was as if trying to capture a river, the droplets falling from his fingertips every time he believed he grasped it. Every time Spock thought he understood his next move he would change it, to his surprise. To understand Jim's strategy one had to understand how his mind worked, and that was an impossibility only he had the answer to. His moves would seem sporadic, random and even reckless at moments, yet it always seemed to work in his favour. He slowly picked off his pieces one by one, placing Spock in a quick and brutal checkmate.

He frowned at the board. Logically, James should have moved his bishop, which would set up a much easier defeat. He had preemptively placed his defences there, but he had instead used a pawn. A most illogical, risky and unusual move indeed. He had seen a mistake and utilized it to his advantage quickly, hoping Spock would not catch it. A mistake he had missed, but a mistake no less.

"You play...rather interestingly." Spock managed to say, still staring at the board in confusion. How had he overlooked this?

"You play rather well too. Don't worry about it. You'll catch on soon enough. You only just learned it."

"It's similar to a Vulcan game, though this is a bit more complicated," He explained.

"Well then, you should be fine to play against the next person."

He looked up, eyes widening in shock. "The next person?" Jim merely winked and moved onto the following table. He then realised in horror everyone was rotating spots in the room.

Jim was replaced with a young girl, a freshman he believed. He had seen her a few times in the hallway, constantly chatting with two or three of her fellow classmates. She nervously sat at the chessboard, squirming. She looked up at him anxiously, before looking down again, as if staring at him too long would curse her. He himself felt uncomfortable as well in her presence. This was greatly turning more into a regrettable mistake more quickly than he realised. He turned to look elsewhere, choosing to stare off at Jim. Jim was easily beating another classmate, but with great camaraderie and warmth. Only he could make beating someone mercilessly seem kind. Even from here Spock could see his smile. Jim turned around and winked at him. He turned back to her.

"Shall we play then?" He asked, trying to sound not as intimidating as possible. She nodded quickly, still too afraid to speak.

He made the first move. She played surprisingly well, but he managed to beat her after 40 moves or so. She then thanked him, surprisingly at ease despite being defeated. He nodded in acknowledgement, his shoulders laxing.

This pattern continued with various other opponents. Most were quiet but all were intent on beating him But he managed to outmanoeuvre every single one. All of them were challenging in their own way, playing in numerous different patterns and strategies, and he found such puzzles intellectually stimulating. But they were considerably easier to understand and much less dynamic than Jim though, so it was easier to beat them once he understood their pattern. At the end of the session, he managed to gain 10 victories, 2 draws & only 1 loss (from Jim). He also gained another surprising gift: people asking him to come back to play again, some even asking for a rematch immediately. Others wanted to meet outside of the chess club and play with me. he politely obliged their requests. Even the girl from the beginning managed to give him a small wave goodbye, smiling softly at me.

"That was fun," Jim said, as they\ walked back home.

"Indeed, it was complex but the challenge was mentally stimulating."

"I'm glad you liked it. It seemed like you made some friends too." He said, smiling softly. Spock said nothing in reply, choosing to disregard his comment. He suddenly had a sinking suspicion of his real intentions on making him attend the meeting,

"Are we going back next week then?"

"Considering we've both already agreed to go and there are currently no conflicting events, it would not only be illogical but also dishonest to not attend," He said simply. Jim beamed. He then shifted the conversation to another topic as they walked together.

**Author's Note **

Here's Chapter 5! I had a lot of fun with this chapter, mainly because it was mostly fluff so it was a lot more fun and light to write compared to coming up chapters/other aspects of the story. I'm a lover of cliches and tropes so I had to include the 'origin story' of Spock and Kirk learning to play chess with one another. I also think if Spock and Jim met when younger Spock would change a lot more compared to the progression in the show, such as getting him to do stuff etc and out of his shell. I also found it hilarious the whole texting scene. I think honestly both of them are pretty clueless about technology but in different ways. Like Spock knows how to work the hardest machine engines in the universe but ask him to use social media and he would totally fail. I think Jim is better and not by much and Jim, in general, is a total dork in technology. This is the same man who failed to drive to the point that Spock even commented on it. I feel like Jim would also be weirdly good at building things though and getting stuff fixed that should not be possible. His poor engineering professors would not know what to do with him. Anyway, I hoped you like the chapter. Next chapter will be a lot more angsty but it will get better (for now).


	6. Chapter 6 Requiem

**Warning: **Suicidal talk (not serious/super in-depth) & cursing

**Chapter 6. **

"No."

"Why not?" Jim whined. He fluttered his eyes, pouting. Spock ignored him.

"As I have already explained, for the 10th time today, there is no logical reason for my presence. Considering we are 98% finished with the project; it would be illogical to go to your house to finish it."

Spock let out a sigh of annoyance, his brows slightly furrowing, an ongoing headache forming. He had seen the look in his eyes and knew it all too well. No matter the number of logical arguments he would say Jim would not give up, though the reason why still baffled him. At this point, he just hoped he could arrive home without Jim bothering him enough to finally concede, a task that was becoming more difficult after each passing minute of pestering.

"Please?" He glared at him. Jim resumed looking as if he had told him he had killed his favourite pet. Spock ignored it. Jim then let out a huff of frustration.

The bell rang. "We will be late." Spock walked, leaving him behind.

XXX

"Come on, Spock. It won't be so bad, my parents have been dying to meet you."

"I'm certain the lack of my presence will not be detrimental to their health."

"You know what I meant!" Jim exclaimed, outstretching his hands in exaggerated exasperation.

Spock continued walking, intently focusing on the number of steps he needed to arrive home. At the current rate, it was roughly 500, perhaps less if he took larger strides. A prospect he seriously considered, especially since Jim would not less this matter rest. He glanced over at him; he continually stared at him, his brown eyes widening more than humanly possible, looking more akin to a puppy than an adolescent male.

Jim then stopped, stepping close in front of me. "Fine, at least tell him why."

Spock attempted to sidestep him, but Jim continued to block me. Spock considered running, but he knew Jim was faster and much stockier than him and could likely block or follow him, both of which he didn't doubt Jim wouldn't do given the circumstances.

"Jim, as I've already explained to you numerous times, there is simply no logical reason for me to go. While your persistence is admirable, there is merely no need to pursue this matter anymore. I am adamant on his decision." He started walking again. 250 steps left now.

He blocked his path again. "No, I want to know why you don't want to go. So far you've only told me reasons you don't need to go. That doesn't explain why you don't want to."

Spock turned away again. He continually stared intensely at him though, his eyes like daggers. His exasperation and frustration rolled off in waves. Sometimes Spock forgot how intense he could be, but he was duly reminded at the moment.

He let out another sigh in defeat. He could never win, could I? But why did he need him there? How could he not see the disaster this would be? Wasn't it apparent enough why? How could he not see it would only end in tragedy? Out of all the things he's asked him, why did he have to be persistent on this? Why did he care so much? Wasn't this enough? Wasn't he enough?

His experience with adults was limited, but it was enough to teach him to avoid them at all costs. Adults were as cruel as children, but children at least were honest. They did not conceal their disgust or fear because they had not learned yet. Adults though had mastered the art of wearing those masks on their face, giving smiles while holding daggers behind their backs. While he admitted that James was an anomaly in his treatment of him, he could not apply the same logic to his parents. How could he possibly know what they would think of him? Their perfect son, being with him: a Vulcan, an anomaly, a stain on the perfect James T Kirk. Even if he wasn't Vulcan, it wasn't exactly like he was an ideal friend for their son either. If anything, they should detest him, and he would not blame them for it either. The probability of them not outright hating him was low. He couldn't risk it. It wasn't worth it not to only anger his parents, but also potentially damage their relationship. Because inevitably, if it came to his parents or him, he knew which one he should choose. Then that would be the end.

Spock did not voice these concerns though, merely stating: "James, Vulcans do not desire anything. This will be the end of discussion." His voice sounding cold, his tone harsh. Jim's mouth closed, his face suddenly solemn. They didn't say anything more, parting ways back to their respective houses.

XXX

Spock sat at his desk, agitated, staring frustratingly at the math problem before him. Typically such a problem would have required only minutes with ease but now it seemed written in a foreign language. The math problem wasn't to blame though, his mental facilities were fine regarding memory and capability but his attention was elsewhere. Despite his best efforts, his mind refused to yield, continually replaying the afternoon over and over as if seared into his eyes. He could not look away; he could not stop it. He was a forced prisoner to his mind, rewatching the clip thousands of times. Each time he pushed the thoughts away, forcing them to disappear, but each time they reappeared and with a vengeance.

How pathetic he was. Even when he wasn't here, he couldn't stop himself. Jim could never leave me, could he? He was always there in his mind, a thought he hadn't minded as much before. It didn't help that he could remember everything about the scene. He remembered the cold air blowing into his hair, tossing it slightly in the wind, a chill spreading across Spock's face. He remembered standing there, his body stiff and coiled, ready to pounce at any moment. He remembered the fury, the anger burning within me, bitter and hot, destroying me. Then...he saw his face. He saw how his eyes widened for a second then dim, like a dying star. He remembered how he turned away from him, cold. He remembered feeling the hurt he felt, and he felt too, his anger immediately replaced with a shame so immense he thought it would overcome him, a terrible greyness that felt like he was drowning. He remembered trying to call out but no words forming on his tongue, his voice was empty. He remembered it all. His eyes continually staring at him, haunting phantom he could not rid himself of no matter how hard he tried. He attempted to meditate but it was no use. The guilt continued eating away at him.

Someone knocked on the door. "Enter." Mother walked in.

"Spock, it's getting late, you should go to bed soon."

"I know; he will after he finish these problems. They're not too extraneous, I should be done in approximately 10 minutes." She smiled softly, scruffing his hair like she did when he was a child. He was too tired to push her away, for a moment allowing the comfort. He had not realised how much he had missed it.

Suddenly his holo rang. He glanced over at it; it was a notification from Jim. He shut it off, ignoring it. A part of him screamed to answer, screamed to reply. He repressed such thoughts. He was not capable of talking to him now. Not yet. he was not capable of being himself around him. He was too emotionally broken to do such an act, the turmoil within him far from over.

"What was that about?"

"Just a notification for a school assignment. It is of no importance." He lied, it was ironic how lying came so easily to him now.

"Alright, well good night, Spock."

"Good night, Mother."

When she left the room, he grabbed his phone, temptation overwhelming him again. He fought back though and tossed it onto the other side of the room, not allowing himself to read the message. He was not going to break easily. He was stronger than this, and he would prove that to himself. He was in control of himself and his emotions, and himself. He did not need to answer to every whim of his, no matter how much he wanted to. There was always time to address it tomorrow when he was of a more sound mind. But not now, not tonight. He shut off his phone and went to bed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. There he became his worst enemy, left to his devices to fill the void within him. He closed his eyes, haunted by a past he wished he had forgotten.

XXX

"Tsel Vel—you don't belong here!" A slap rang through the room. His cheek throbbed, his heart pounded in his chest, threatening to break from its ribcage, his head rang from the impact, too shocked to even react. When he touched his cheek, he discovered to his astonishment it was wet from his tears. He did not know he could cry.

"Imperfect, broken, how pathetically human." His father stared at me, no words of comfort or remorse. The only look in his eyes rang a cold disappointment that turned his blood to ice. He cried out for love, but he would never return any. This would only the first of many disappointments. It was then he realised he would never be enough for him. His voice cried out but it was silent, broken from the tears.

"See how he cries!" The torrid laughter of a hundred Vulcan children. Their taunts jeering, masses of blank faces in the sea of laughter. He stood alone of the arena, the circus freak, the anomaly, the animal. They kicked and punched him, and he looked at the sands, eerily thankful to bleed green still.

Then they left, and he was alone in the desert sands, no one to find him and not caring to be found either. He thought he would die there. At the moment he wished he did. Sometimes he still does.

He cried into his mother's arms, the only one who he could still cry with. "Why do they hate me?" She hugged him but was silent, tending to his wounds with a strong facade that no one could immediately discern. He could see her lips quiver though, her eyes slightly water. She could not answer. She did not know or rather did not want him to know. She was too afraid to give him the truth: this was only the beginning of his suffering.

XXX

He woke in a cold sweat, panic grabbing at his throat. He nearly cried out in pain but stopped himself, his control quickly overcoming it as his senses awoke. The emotional rush of the dream gradually faded away, the remnants of the adrenaline flooding out of his system. He sat in his bed, breathing hard, focusing his control over his emotions, quelling the storm that had built within him. He reminded himself, it was only a dream, a past that could no longer hurt him. It was all gone, they were now only reduced to memories. Nothing more but memories. The perpetrators were a galaxy away, and he was no longer that child. He reminded himself that over and over, pushing the pain away. It didn't stop the pain, but it made it more bearable.

He gingerly sat up, his consciousness fully returning. He looked around, reminding himself of where he was and when he was. He pushed away the dream, locking it away in the recesses of his mind. He hid it from himself, placing it in a box and throwing away the key. He locked it away, shoving it into the corner of darkness in his mind where all his demons lied. Like he always did. The wounds still existed though, the memories still haunting, even though they were nothing but scars. Even though the incidents were false, the pain was still real. He would have to meditate about this to fully deconstruct and destroy it, but he didn't have the time now.

He hadn't dreamed in a while. He rarely dreamed anymore. He had frequently when he was younger. Night terrors, they were called, a reliving of the constant trauma he faced in the day, even in sleep he could not escape it. He remembered screaming in the night, agony writhing his body, unable to ever escape his pain. His dreams were always tied with emotions, the more emotionally imbalanced he was the stronger his dreams were. He constantly remembered being afraid to fall asleep, staying up for days at a time, terrified of what his mind would do unconsciously. At least when he was awake, he could control it, at least when he was awake he knew what was real. Eventually, meditation had calmed those storms and allowed him dreamless sleep. They had taken away with them all good dreams as well, but it was a small price to pay. Dreaming came from the human side of him. Vulcans do not dream from what he was told. He always hated his dreams; they served as a constant reminder of his inferiority, his inability to control his emotions.

He checked the clock. He had approximately 20 minutes to prepare himself if he wanted to make to school it at an ideal time. He rose out of bed, out of habit grabbing his phone to check the news. Instead of the news though he was greeted with 16 text notifications & 10 phone calls from Jim. He dropped his phone out of shock, as if being burned. Suddenly he was reliving the scene again, the emotional turmoil from yesterday replaying at tenfold in intensity. He sat, overwhelmed from the stimuli, the emotional drainage from that day returning with a vengeance. Jim's face stared at him again, and he found he could not look away, the guilt eating away at his soul. Guilt threatened to destroy him from within as he continually stared at his face, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to do anything.

He sat on his bed, rubbing his eyes, trying to scrub the images out of his mind. Slowly, the waves of emotion subsided though and with shaky breaths, he was able to function again. He pushed the remaining emotions away, locking them again. They were a problem for another day. Right now he had to focus on preparing to go to school. He turned onto autopilot, scheduling his day and deconstructing it in such a manner to compile a logical list of what he needed to do. He distanced himself, distracting himself with the rigidity of the schedule.

He picked up his phone and swiped at the notifications, not bothering to read them. He couldn't read them. He only needed to focus. He needed to distract himself from them. Because if he tried reading them, he would break completely. He was not emotionally capable of dealing with this now. A sudden wave of dread passed over him as he realized he would have to see Jim at school. The dread ached over him, a dull pain that permeated throughout his whole body. He suddenly did not want to go to school any longer.

XXX

Spock attempted to avoid him, but the task was more difficult than he anticipated, becoming increasingly more difficult as the day passed. The fact of them having all the same classes soon became more of a curse than a blessing, as it became virtually impossible to avoid him. It also became impossible to ignore him either and to feign ignorance, a fact that became apparent after the 2nd period when Jim tried walking with him and he rejected his proposal.

"Wait, Spock!" Jim kept walking, ignoring his calls. He kept his head straight, focusing on the destination only, his eyes glued to the ground.

He had called his name approximately 10 times now, a mental tally that made his heart ache. Despite his persistent attempts at ignoring him, Jim continued calling out his name, ignoring his signals of not wanting to talk to him. Jim always was so persistent, wasn't he? He always fought against the impossibility, even when the data told him otherwise. Spock had always admired these traits in him; he just wished they weren't directed at him. Every time he called out his name it felt more desperate, more emotional, a rawness he could not ignore. Emotion seeped out with every word, staining the sky in vibrant shades of red and black. Instinct for a moment would take over, and he would be tempted, so very tempted to turn back, to run back to him. Every atom in his body pulled him back to him, pleading with him to listen, to go. Every time though he refused. Every ounce of his willpower was used to keep his head looking forward because he knew if he looked back he would be too weak to resist him.

Slowly it got easier, or as easier as it could be given the situation. After a week it became bearable. But it wasn't because Spock tolerated it more, it was simply because Jim stopped trying. After 2 weeks Jim just...stopped. The texts stopped, the calls in the hallway, even the waiting behind for him. He couldn't even bear to look at him in the hallway anymore, ignoring him in class, in the hallways, after school, his face always turned away from him. They didn't even walk the same pathways before, finding different people to follow, not that he was trying to notice.

This is what he wanted, wasn't it? No, he wanted the problem to stop, not the friendship. What a fool he was. He thought if he ignored the problem it would go away, but it wasn't that easy, was it? In ignoring the problem, he had ignored him and thereby he had inadvertently broken their friendship. Now Spock had realized his mistake but it was too late There was no going back. Over time Jim might look at him again, but it wouldn't be the same. He would smile but the smiles wouldn't be like the smiles before, the ones that felt like being kissed by the sun. The gleam in his eye, the wonder he spoke with would be gone. The camaraderie, the warmth, all of it would be taken away. They would be kind strangers to each other, their interactions only a distant memory that felt like another lifetime ago that happened to another person.

It was inevitable really. It wasn't meant to last...he had been a fool to ever hope so. Emotions had overridden his rationalism and he had thought, for a moment, that this could be more, that they had something more. T How many times would it take? How many times would he have to break before he would learn? How many times does it take to hurt to lose hope? Would he ever learn? He wished he would learn sooner. Experience had continually hammered into him this wouldn't last, yet he still...still wished it could be something more. He wished he could be something more. He was only an idiot, with logic and reason winning out yet again. The fundamental fact remains that no one would accept him. Why then did he still feel like crying? He knew this, then why was he so upset? Why did he continue trying, even when the pain could never subside?

He contemplated these emotions within him, trying to resolve the emotional turmoil struggling to break out and destroy him. They swirled within, strong and unresolved. He sorted each emotion, analyzing them carefully before categorizing them and locking them away. He was so caught up in thought he didn't notice Jim walking behind him. By the time he noticed though it was too late; Jim was already following him, and it was too late to divert from his path. His heart pounded, dread sinking within his bones. Out of all times, why now? He quickened the pace, so did he. Jim didn't call out his name though this time, staying silent. Spock kept his head forward, daring not to look back or slow. He didn't need to look to know what Jim was thinking: he was furious. The red burned off of him like a fire, scorching to the touch. Spock's skin burned under the heat, his soul screaming at him to run. He continued walking faster. Jim was faster though and finally managed to block him.

For a moment they didn't say anything, only staring at each other, eerily close. Far too close. Spock calculated the distance of his face as only 3 inches from his, a fact he quickly disregarded as he felt the full wave of his fury. Jim was the first to shatter the silence.

"What is with you Spock!" Spock backed up in defence, saying nothing, trying to escape out of the situation as quickly as possible. He evinced a sudden inclination for the ground to swallow him and disappear.

He refused to look at him, turning his face toward the sky. Jim continued pushing forward, almost pinning him against the chain-link fence behind him. Spock continued stepping back, trying to shrink himself through the fence, his hands gripping the metal, his knuckles turning white. His legs shook, his heart raced as he continued looking away. He tried to keep his face as stoic as possible though, praying this interaction would end. Terror seized through him as the waves of anger emanated from Jim, directed at him.

Jim's voice came out surprisingly soft. "Look, I know you don't want to go. Fine. Whatever." It was clearly not fine, but Spock was not going to point that out at the moment, the accuracy of his statement being the least of his concerns.

"But this! Not answering my texts, avoiding me in the hallway, not even bearing to look in my direction! And don't you dare say you weren't avoiding me, Spock!" He pointed an accusatory finger at him, his voice raw, breaking under the pressure. Spock continued to say nothing.

"And I thought—well, I don't even know what I thought anymore! Is this how it's going to be? Is this what you really want! I know I'm brash, and I'm impulsive and I can be pushy. I'm not perfect for fuck's sake Spock! But this, you really want to end it all because he invited you to my house! I mean, are you fucking serious?!" Tears streamed down his face, Spock's heart broke.

"Jim..."

Jim cut him off. "No, you know what? I don't care anymore. I can't care anymore. If you really don't want to be friends anymore, that's fine, I guess. At least tell me why Spock. Just tell him what I did wrong, what I'm doing wrong what I can fix—Just please, please talk to me, Spock. I don't know what he can do but—" He continued babbling, he was bawling.

"Jim!" He grabbed him, shocking both of them. What was he doing? Jim stared at him, his eyes red, shocked in disbelief. He stared back, too shocked by his actions.

Then the pain came, hot and searing. For a moment their skin touched and he felt the full force of his pain. The fury had dissipated, completely replaced with pain, so much pain. Blue waves rolled off of him, overpowering his senses. It was cold and dark and heavy, like drowning in the ocean. His chest constricted from the weight, unable to bear it. He took his hands off of him, desperate to breathe. Jim looked at him, wiping his eyes. His voice was quiet as if the act of even talking to him pained him.

"Please, tell him why Spock. Why?"

He stared at me, his lips still quivering, fighting hard to hold back the tears. His eyes were even redder, his cheeks flushed, stained with his tears. He looked so small, so frail, so broken. He was only a child too, wasn't he? They were only children. And he was like that because of him. Because of his selfishness, his fears, his cowardice caused this. His irrational belief that not talking to him was a lie he had created to only better his guilt. He had continually lied to himself to better his guilt. His own insecurities and fears caused the last thing he wanted to do to Jim: harm. This was his fault; it could have been prevented so easily too. What a selfish fool he had been. This wasn't about him though, not now at least. This was about Jim.

"Jim I—I do not wish to terminate our friendship." The words came out awkward, stilted, his mind struggling to find the right words to say. What were the right words to say in a situation like this? Could there ever be any?

"Then why Spock, why have you been avoiding me?" His eyes pleaded with him.

He gave him the truth because Jim deserved that. "That day...when you asked him to go...I came under the assumption, a false one I realise now, that what we had was not enough. That our friendship was not enough for you. This then translated to me being unworthy of you. I was also not particularly fond of the idea of meeting your parents either. I was...afraid. I have had poor experiences with adults nearly his whole life due to his heritage. This friendship we have...I valued it so deeply, and he was afraid of messing it up, and I only wanted it to remain as it was. I am already afraid enough. I don't know if I'm ever doing the right thing. I'm constantly afraid that one day I'll wake up and you—you'll not want to be around me anymore. Then when you asked about your parents, it was overwhelming." He paused, his voice choking.

"So I became angry at you for forcing your opinion on me. Unrightfully and irrationally angry but angry, nonetheless. That morning after I avoided you because I did not want to deal with it. I also falsely believed if I did not discuss the matter it would eventually resolve itself. Then...you stopped talking to me. It further fed into my insecurities of not being enough, and that you secretly hated me, that you secretly did not want this friendship to last. It proved to me everything I had feared and hated about myself was right." The words choked in his throat. He was unable to speak, unable to breathe.

Jim's eyes widened and then softened, rushing to him, placing his hand on his shoulder. "How could you ever think that? Don't you see how much I want to be friends?"

Spock turned away, unable to bear it any longer, unable to stand under the scrutiny of him. Guilt gnawed away at him, cold and harsh, torturing him from within. How pathetic he was, a poor excuse for a human, let alone a Vulcan. To be not only divulging emotion but admitting weakness—to a peer no less and in public, was the epitome of patheticness. How could he even call himself Vulcan? It was Jim who required the care, he was the one suffering, not him. He hated that he had somehow turned it on him. It was never supposed to be about him. He did not deserve to be cared about in such a manner. He deserved nothing.

"I am sorry for his actions causing such pain." Spock's voice was still soft, afraid to speak, afraid to break any more. Jim suddenly grabbed his face. He turned in surprise and looked at him again.

"Spock, look at me." He looked, too shocked to turn away for the moment, the shock overriding the guilt.

The first feature Spock noticed was his eyes. They were clearer now, and softer too, the fury melting away like the first failings of snow. There was a warmth to them, like a kindling of a fire, the one he saw in him on the first day of school that had left him in awe. This warmth though he realized was now solely directed at him. The sun had chosen him. He had chosen him Why he did not know, but it didn't matter. He had chosen him and was determined to prove that. At that moment his insecurities didn't matter anymore. For a moment he forgot them all and only focused on him. He stared deep into his eyes, trying to understand him, trying to see into the depths of his soul. Behind the warmth there was a sadness in his eyes, a depth he never saw before. Had it always been there? Had he failed to notice it, or had he always shrouded it before?

From his touch, every emotion between them intensified. Great outpourings of gold and white poured out of Jim. A chorus of warmth left the taste of honey on Spock's tongue, like the light of a candle, the heat flickering softly, nostalgia for a memory he did not remember. There were also shades of sadness though, a blue that was cold and soft, like the beginning of a rainstorm. Intermixed was a sense of fear, sharp and jarring, an underlying current of energy running between them. Each emotion played out before him, an orchestra he could not tell where his or Jim's began or ended.

From him, he could also discern for the first time his basic flow of thoughts. Words that were not his own immediately flooded his mind. Jim's thoughts poured into his like water to a desert, his body revelling in every word like a necessity. He was an oasis he was missing.

"Hurt, comfort, fear, abandonment, and love."

It was undeniably there, a love he had never felt ever like it, and it was directed at him. It was an unconditional, unrelenting, imperfect, messy, so very human love. It was powerful and kind and something he never knew he missed before. He accepted it willingly though, revelling in it. It came in waves, like the crashing of waves on a shore, loud and repeated, unrelenting in its message. Love kept screaming at him, covering him, intoxicating him with its power. Jim's mind called out to him, yearning for him to understand, to listen. It cried to hear him, and Spock yielded, accepting him.

For a moment we stood in silence, unable to think, unable to breathe, too caught up in emotion. Spock was the first to break the silence, slowly pulling his hands off of him. Jim's feelings were too strong, too overpowering to make him able to think straight, much less speak.

"Is our friendship not over then?"

At this, Jim laughed, and it was an honest laugh, light and shrill and full of joy, not held back or forced anymore. It was one of relief, one of exhaustion, of excitement and hope. "Only if you promise to go to dinner with him tonight."

Spock's anxiety instantly crawled back and he baulked at such words, the reality of the situation hitting him again as his mind overrode his soul. "Jim...I do not know-"

Jim turned to look at me, the fire returning. "I'm serious, Spock. Look, I know it's a lot to ask of you. I don't know what happened to you before, but I can't imagine it has been kind. I know people have been bad to you Spock, hell, people are still assholes to you. But I promise you, it'll be different. My parents are different. They really want to meet you, not about you, you. They don't want to meet Spock the Vulcan, or Spock the academic leader, they want to meet my friend. That's all." Even without his touch, he knew he wasn't lying. He never lied to him.

"All right...I'll go." He broke out into a smile of relief, beaming.

"I'll text you the address. Dinner will be at 6:00, don't be late!" Jim cried, running back home. Spock stood alone, shaking his head. Suddenly the realization hit him. He had just agreed to go to dinner with him. Oh Sarek, he had just agreed to go to dinner with him. What had he gotten himself into?

**Author's Note **

Okay, the angst-filled chapter is done, and the angst for the chapter, for now, is done. I know this is a rather large contrast considering the last chapter and a bit OOC for both of them, but I wanted to explore their relationship when they fight, and really fight. I know it's a bit cliche considering its sort of a miscommunication/not talking to each other but I think it's actually quite common, especially with teenagers at this age. As for the OOCness out of this chapter, I tried to keep it as best and accurate to the characters I could but had more interpretation for how I think they would react if the show wasn't set in the 60s and they were a lot younger. Especially for Jim, there will be a lot more explanation on his big freak out down the road, but not really until the very very end. Anyway, I hoped you liked it and apologise in advance for this mess of emotions the characters went through. The next chapter will be much lighter again, and we get to meet the Kirks!


	7. Chapter 7 The Kirks

**Chapter 7. **

Spock walked briskly down the street, tightening his jacket to protect against the evening air. He paused, a puff of smoke forming from his breath, and involuntarily shivered. He had always disliked the cold, and today was no exception. He shook his head, acutely aware of his surroundings. He pulled out his phone, double-checking he was heading in the correct direction.

He looked behind him, considering for a moment to turn back. It still wouldn't be too late. He would easily be able to go back before dinner, telling Jim an excuse of becoming sick or some other matter. It would be easier in many ways too. He had not informed his parents of his plans, mainly because he knew if he did he would not be allowed to go. He rarely lied and had not practised enough to pass his father's glare. If he asked he knew he would be rejected immediately. Luckily, they would be home late tonight so he could ideally arrive home hours before they did. They would suspect nothing as long as he made it appear that he was home for a while. Still, the risk was no doubt tedious and dangerous and if they were to find out the consequences would be severe. And for what reason? To go somewhere he did not even want to, that he still dreaded to the core of his being? Every part of him pushed against this, but he forced these emotions down like he had so many times before, and continued walking. Why was still a mystery. Yet Jim Kirk always made him do mysterious things.

He stepped upon the wooden steps, careful to be quiet. He stared at the door frame. The house was worn in but comfortable, as if years of love had embedded itself in it through the years. The red paint on the door was worn & cracked, creating an oddly comforting traditional rustic feeling. Inside, the house was brightly lit with old-fashioned bulbs, emitting a warm glow that spilt outside to the gloomy air. Even from the outside, he could overhear them talking and peals of laughter. He paused, contemplating it. What different worlds they came from.

He pulled out his hand for the doorknob but stopped himself, his hand drawing back. Suddenly a wave of determination swept over him to walk away. It wasn't too late. Jim hadn't noticed him yet. He could still go back. He still had time to fix this mistake—to pretend this never happened. He couldn't do this. How had he been a fool enough to think he could? Coming here was a mistake. How could he have not seen this before? Jim had said they were different but how could he believe him? He would be biased, he would not know. How could he know?

Spock knew what would happen when he entered that room. Darkness would fall—the laughter would end, the warmth would disappear. Even if they outright wouldn't say anything, their actions would speak magnitudes. The masks would return, polite formalities would ensue but nothing compared to before. At best, it would be an awkward experience for all parties involved. At worst...well, he didn't want to consider at worst. He would not blame them either. This warmth and laughter were not for him. It was never meant for him. He was not a part of that, and why should he be? Why should he partake in something that he didn't deserve? No matter how much he desired it, it could never be his. He could never be a part of that.

He paused again though, thinking back to his smile Jim had given him today. A flash of memories played in his mind. He had promised him, and to break such a promise would be a lie, a mark against his moral character. More than that though it was a promise to _Jim_, and he could never bear to lie to him. He had looked so happy, so genuine and kind. Jim believed the best in everyone, despite there being so many countless examples against it. When Jim looked at him, he saw something in him that he could never see, an image of perfection he never saw. Spock wished to live up to that expectation. He was willing to do anything to keep those kind eyes.

Thus, despite his apprehensions—the tightening in his legs, his beating heart, the knots forming in his stomach creating a labyrinth of anxieties within him—he persevered. He forced it down as he had always done. He was not going to show this. He would not succumb to his emotions. He rang the doorbell.

Jim instantly opened the door with a wide smile on his face. "You made it! For a second he was worried-" He paused, then thinking better of it, stated: "I'm just glad you came."

"Come on, it's freezing outside." Spock gingerly stepped inside.

Inside was a well-lit room furnished in a manner that could only be characterized as organized chaos. He suddenly realized Jim Kirk's disorganization ran in the family. Everything was arranged in a way that was only organized to those who lived in the house, the floor completely covered in a torrent whirlpool of helter-skelter. Two small couches sat in each corner, with small spaces left enough to sit, though not comfortably. The chairs were worn, from age rather than style, with stuffing and broken seams permeated throughout the cushions. In the centre of the room lied what appeared to be a coffee table, though it appeared more like another storage place for the inordinate number of books piled upon it. On the back wall, a fireplace crackled, though a holo one, with conventional fireplaces becoming long outdated. The mantle was filled to the brim with holo photos and other memorabilia of Jim and his family over the years: the travels they went, token trophies they won, gifts they made as children. It was oddly endearing in its own way. The floor was worn but sturdy, wooden with a dark varnish furthering the dated appearance of the room. In the background a classical Terran song he could not name played. It was warm in here, though not just in temperature. There was an air, an atmosphere of warmth contained in these walls. It felt like Jim.

Jim continually chatted but Spock could hardly hear him, preoccupied with scanning his surroundings. Jim's parents then walked in to greet him. Out of habit he straightened, the ease instantaneously dissipating. He hastily scanned each of them apprehensively, gaining as much visual information as quickly as possible.

Jim's Kirk's mother was a lively woman, and he would realize where most of his personality and looks came from. Even now as she stood, she absentmindedly fidgeted with her fingers, a constant whirlwind of movement. Her hair was bright blonde like wheat, much like Jim's, but now streaked with grey. Her eyes were dark brown but bright, a fire underneath them he saw in Jim, an ambition and spunk that ran deep to her core. Her energy burst through her like a fire, bright and hot and crackling. It was a bit much but it wasn't too overpowering. She smiled at him warmly, and her smile was genuine rather than forced politeness, meeting her eyes. Jim had inherited his mother's smile.

Jim's father was more reserved. He stood, his back straight, arms clasped behind him, his face straight and stern, deadpan. Underneath though there was also a kindness in his eyes, subtle but existing, with no ill malice or intent behind them. His eyes were also dark brown and they stared at him with neutrality. His hair was gelled back, speckled with black and white. Spock soon realised Jim's moral compass and heart came from his father, along with his bravery.

"Sorry for the mess I hope you don't mind." Jim's mother quickly rambled, reaching out to hug Spock. He accepted the hug by surprise but surprisingly didn't mind it. It reminded him of his mother. He still said nothing.

"He doesn't," Jim assured her. Spock managed to snap out of it and offer a curt nod.

Jim's father's voice came out low and even, deliberate in words and choice. "Welcome," He extended his hand into the ta'al. "Live long and prosper. I am George Kirk." Mrs Kirk then quickly joined beside him, also managing to give him the ta'al.

He signed it back. "Peace & long life. I am S'chn T'gai Spock." Jim turned to him, his mouth agape, brows furrowed in mock anger.

"You didn't tell me Spock wasn't your first name! Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was never relevant."

"Of course it's relevant! What is it again?" He asked, fumbling with the words.

He shook his head, letting out a faint sigh. "You would be incapable of pronouncing it," He said, exasperated.

Jim glared and continued trying. Spock barely could not roll his eyes. He then looked up at Mrs Kirk who was smiling, but there was a strange sadness behind her eyes.

"Come on boys; food is on the table. Let's eat before it gets cold."

XXX

All his anticipatory fears turned out to be incorrect. They were the kindest people he has ever had the pleasure to meet, the paragon of human emotionality and kindness. They carried a sincerity he sorely lacked, and a sympathy he never knew he needed. They made no direct mention of his heritage but treated it with kindness and consideration through their actions. He would not have even realized they had noticed if not for the fact that they did not hold his hands during grace, the meal was a vegetarian lasagna and they were careful to not touch his hands at any moment when passing the side dishes to him. These small acts were performed without any mention or hesitation, but with caring deliberation. The normality of it all took him by surprise, but he gratefully accepted their hospitality.

He soon discovered where many of Jim's quirks came from. For instance, his habit of skipping from one topic to the next came from his mother, as his mother and he would argue from one topic to the next, barely finishing their train of thought before skipping to another topic. Jim's fiery temperament also came from her. She was a force to behold, a firecracker of energy that burned brighter than the summer sun. Each statement was articulate and precise and striking, but never mean spirited, even as she teased him relentlessly. Jim's father was more reserved but also highly intelligent, with every statement being deliberate and concise, no other words necessary. He was not a man of many words but those he stated carried precise and powerful meaning. In many ways, they were strange parallels to his own parents, as if looking through a distorted mirror.

Both were also intensely interested in his own life and him as well, though not because of his heritage, but as a person. They continued to ask him questions with authentic curiosity and listened with genuine interest. Initially, it surprised him. On Vulcan, such individualism is frowned upon, and on Earth, no one had cared enough to ask. Even his parents did not. It wasn't necessarily because they didn't care but they felt it wasn't necessary, or at least that is what his father believed. My mother would ask, but only in private when he was little, such talks were now considered improper. Besides, with the start of school, such precious times alone had been taken.

Gradually though he became accustomed to such questions and became more comfortable answering them, voicing opinions he didn't even realise he had. They asked about his favourite subjects, his interests, his hobbies. They asked how he met James and his favourite dishes so they could make it next time. They asked about his life and recounted their own stories, retelling their Starfleet days. Jim's father was a captain and his mother was an engineering officer, having met and fallen in love on the ship. They were the perfect romantic power couple of the galaxy. Although Jim and his brother were born on Earth, they lived their first childhood years aboard a Starship. Spock listened to their story in awe, watching how Jim rolled his eyes good-naturedly, having undoubtedly heard the story a thousand times. His mother reenacted the stories, adding flairs of dramatism. His father stood stoically, every now and then correcting a minor detail, but smiled softly at his wife, a soft-spoken love emanating from him. Was this what a family was supposed to be like? He did not realize how much he missed it until he sat there, watching. He did not realise how much he did not have.

After dessert, Jim took him to his room. "We'll be upstairs!" Jim yelled.

"All right, but keep your door open!" Mrs Kirk cried back. Jim rolled his eyes, dramatically stomping up the stairs.

Inside his room was an eclectic mess even more chaotic than the floor below. If he had not known better, it was if a storm had taken place and destroyed its contents. He could not even tell what the floor material was as it was hidden under a plethora of clothes, comics, shoes, books, notes, doodles, sketches, wrappers, and other random assortments of objects. What amazed him the most was the sheer number of books he had, scattered all across the room, like dust thrown into the wind. There were books about every nature and subject, from comic books strewn on the floor, to poetry and philosophy books piled on the table, to science textbooks eclectically stacked upon shelves all across his room. Every wall space was equally as filled and chaotic as the floor before. Science posters plastered the wall, with large posters of the galaxies under the Federation, along with their statistical data. Among the posters were quotes he liked and various other notes, scribbled in blue ink across the walls, indecipherable to the eye. On a corkboard were pinned photos from over the years, along with small ribbons and awards won he had won. There were also classic posters of old paintings and old Terran rock bands, an eclectic mess that would seem unlikely to work but somehow did. Just like it always did, it somehow fit him perfectly.

"Sorry for the mess..." Jim apologized.

"It is not unexpected at this point." Spock merely stated, attempting to clear off what he presumed to be a desk and chair.

Piled on top of the desk were hundreds of random papers, collected over the following months in no discernible order. Some were random math calculations, stained with coffee and tea. Others were old tests and essays, marked in red and blue ink in the margins. Others were random drawings and notes from classes, nonsensical and juvenile in manner. In the back was a small picture framed in a wooden black frame. Spock picked it up to closer examine it.

It was a picture of Jim, though a lot younger, likely about 4-5 years ago. He was standing with his mother, father, and presumably older brother, a much more serious boy resembling their father. In the image they stood in front of an old house, looking to be around summer from the brightness. Even though it was a still image Spock could somehow see the scene play before him. He could hear Jim's laughter, as he held the large green bass fish, still trying to escape in his hands. His indignant brother rolled his eyes, clearly jealous. His mother laughed while his father stood saying nothing, a shadow of a bemused expression crossing his face. He stared at it in fascination. Jim looked so much younger in the photo, so much more naive, happier even.

"That's my family and me a few summers back. We were in Iowa staying at my Grandmother's place for a few weeks. I used to go there a lot when I was little, it was one of the few places I could call home on Earth. It was also one of the few family vacations we had, with both of them being in the Federation and all. That day we had just gone back from fishing. George was mad because I caught a bigger fish than him. We stayed there for a whole summer. It was one of the best summers of my life." He said, smiling fondly. Shades of pink and mellow yellows emanated from him. He then sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Anyway, I hope my parents haven't been too much. They mean well...they're just a bit...Kirks I guess is the best way to put it. You can see where I get all my charm now, though. They're like that with everyone, even me." He said chuckling.

"They're very inquisitive people, but I do not mind. You were right, they are kind."

"Yeah, that's the one thing about us Kirks for sure. Mom and Dad have always been like that, especially mom. She always means well, but she can be a bit much. Heck, I'm a bit much too. Dad and George are a lot better about that, but even they get to be a bit much if you're around them too long. You get used to it, though."

He then looked up at me. "What are your parents like?"

"My parents are..." He paused, finding himself at a loss for words. How could he describe his parents? How could words be sufficient to embody the complex relationship he held with them? How could one accurately even describe it, when he didn't know himself? There were simply no words to describe it, English or Vulcan, so he settled for the closest semblance that came to mind. "Reserved."

"I guess that makes sense since they're ambassadors and all. I can't imagine them being emotional like Mom. She could never be an ambassador; the Federation would be at war in less than an hour. I bet they're nice though."

"My mother is...kind. My father is quiet. We do not talk much, but it is the way of our people." He said, the pain gone from the words.

It was merely truth at this point. There was no point in lamenting the reality of it. Why hold sorrow from the inevitable? He had been told a thousand times as much in his childhood. It was always explained as a way of their people, never any more because no more explanation was needed. To go against tradition was unheard of, a rule that could not be even considered broken.

"It must suck for them to travel a lot for their jobs, though. You probably don't see them a lot. I mean, my parents travelled a lot too but it was different because I got to go with them. I mean, as I got older it kind of sucked, but I always had George with me so it wasn't bad. Now my parents are practically retired by Starfleet terms. They mainly do administration stuff at home, especially with George out of the house. I think they're just waiting for me to get out, they'll probably go back once I'm in college."

"I have never been around my father much, but my mother always stayed with me. On Vulcan, my father was the only one allowed in the Council meetings so my mother mainly stayed home. On occasion, she would join for diplomacy meetings between the Federation and Vulcan, but she did not involve herself in the daily Vulcan affairs. It did not 'suck, though. I had never established a bond with my father, even when I was young, so I have never missed his appearance in my life. Vulcans are quite an independent species; we do not crave familial bonds compared to human children."

"That still sounds lonely, though."

"Vulcans do not get lonely."

"Still, that sounds lonely, even if you don't admit it."

"It is of no consequence. It simply how life is like on Vulcan."

"What does Vulcan look like?"

"Vulcan is...beautiful. There is a solitude, a tranquillity on the planet that cannot be found anywhere else in the universe. Nothing can compare to the winding sands or the clear desert skies. It was also isolating, though. It is a society in which logic and intellect are valued above all else, and anything outside of such rigidity is highly frowned upon. Emotion and expression of emotion are always highly controlled and strongly discouraged."

"What was your childhood like?"

"...Quiet, and alone. I frequently did not spend it in the company of others. I would often go to the mountains by myself or accompanied by my pet Sehlat. There, I would chart the stars. The skies were especially clear in the mountains, and I learned those constellations by studying the skies there."

"It sounds beautiful there."

"It was—it was home."

"Home..." Jim whispered wistfully, more to himself than anyone else.

"I never knew what a home was, at least not in the physical sense. The closest thing to home was the starship, but even that wasn't home really. Home became wherever the family was, or wherever I could be with family. As a kid it never bothered me—as far as I was concerned, I was living the dream, getting to travel all over the galaxy, seeing planets and people that no other kid possibly saw in a lifetime." He paused, contemplating the next few sentences.

"To me, Starfleet officers were real-life superheroes, defending the Federation and galaxy from harm. I mean, I guess I still do believe that, more or less. I still want to go to Starfleet after all. Lately, though, I've been thinking about the world and space in general. Even though we have hundreds of thousands of documents of planets, there are billions more we will never be able to see. There is so much in this universe we haven't discovered and maybe we'll never discover. Heck, for all we know we could be in a small globe trapped inside a giant cosmic universe. When you think about the scale of the universe, you become extremely small. It's unlikely I'll be remembered. I'm unremarkable, and in the vast length of even Federation history, I'll likely be insignificant, much less galaxy history. Starfleet is also not just about being superheroes either, it's not just defending the galaxy like a fantasy. There are many hardships too I came to realize." His voice sounded solemn.

"I realized that doesn't matter anymore to me. It was never really about exploring, or about being a hero. It was always about the people. As Starfleet gets bigger inevitably more people will join. And not just humans, but Andorioans, Vulcans, maybe even Klingons someday. That means Starfleet is going to change a lot. It's not only going to be a human organization but a galaxy organization or several galaxies if we're lucky. We'll all come from different worlds and cultures and languages but be under the same home in the Federation. And I think that's a wonderful idea worth protecting more than anything else. Isn't that a wonderful world to live in?" He stared at him earnestly. A perfect world of acceptance...what a beautiful dream. If only it could be possible. Reality informed Spock otherwise, pragmatism told him such a world was impossible. The way Jim looked at him though made it seem like anything was possible.

"The sentiment is pleasant, such a world would be wonderful."

"Yeah, I don't know though, maybe it is impossible. I'm just a kid, after all. What do you want to do Spock?"

"I—" he paused, unable to answer the question. What did he want to do?

He knew what he had to do, or what he was expected to do. His life had been planned before his conception, laid out in stone and on a trajectory he had no say in. He was to eventually return to Vulcan to attend the VSA when he turned 18. He would study there for 7 years and further his academic career. Eventually, he would likely become a Vulcan ambassador like his father or a researcher on Vulcan. He would also be expected to join as a full-fledged member of the House of Surak and thus have the responsibility of his House. He would eventually marry his betrothed, T'Pring, and they would be expected to have offspring to continue the Surakian bloodline. He would be the perfect model Vulcan, the ideal son, father, figure, and every role in between. That was what was planned for him, and he was expected to follow. He had never been asked his opinion of it, only told by his father more times than he could count. There were no exceptions, no alternatives, no changes in the plan. It was the plan, and he was to follow it. That was the way of their people.

As a child he never questioned it, questioning was a sign of emotional rebellion and unrest, and he could not afford it even in the recesses of his mind. Then, when he grew older, he continued to never question it because it was an inevitability. Why question when you know there is no other choice? Choice was never available. Responsibility and duty came before everything else. To think of yourself first and choose one's fate was not only risky but selfish, and to be selfish was the highest sin a Vulcan could commit. To be selfish is to be an individual controlled by emotion, the highest disgrace in Vulcan society. Besides, there was nothing illogical about the plan. Like everything his father did, it was a logical plan perfected to a T. There were no inherent flaws in terms of societal status, wealth, or any other aspect except for individual happiness, but that was never considered in the equation. Did he want that life, though? He discovered himself answering with a resounding no. This may have been the life chosen for him, but it was not the life he desired.

He could not stay on Vulcan because he never would be accepted there, no matter what he did. They could never see past his heritage. Even gaining a seat on the House of Surak would be contentious, likely only given to him because there are so few of them left in the House. Even with that status, it was unlikely to offer him any protection. He would always remain an outsider, ostracized and considered a second class citizen on his home planet. If he had children that burden would fall onto them as well, a curse he would not wish upon his worst enemies. Even his betrothed, T'pring, had always hated their betrothal and refused to accept him. Where could he go, though? Earth was just as worse if not more so, and on any other planet he would be an outsider as well. There was no home for him. He thought back to a foolish childhood dream he had when he naively thought he came from the stars. The stars he believed he could find people like himself, he could find someone like him, anyone like him. The stars could find him a home.

"I would like to be in the stars," He said, simply. He didn't need to say more; Jim understood completely. He smiled sympathetically at him.

"We can go to the stars together." Spock stared at him in indignation.

How could he make such a promise? How could he promise something that Jim knew he couldn't keep? Reality and experience both told them the statistics of them meeting again was small. He would go to Starfleet and he would be an ambassador. They perhaps would meet a few times in our lives, but only for official meetings, nothing more. They could not be anymore—reality would not allow them to be. No matter how much Spock wanted the inevitable stood and you could not fight the inevitable.

For a moment, though, Jim stared at him and Spock believed. Jim had stated it with such conviction he was convinced, even if just for a moment. A part of Spock wanted to believe it so badly. A part of him could see a future, a different future, one that they chose together. In that future they stood on a Starfleet ship in the stars, travelling across the galaxy, adventuring to worlds unknown to man. In the future, he stood by Jim's side, always by his side, a constant companion. In that world he was happy, accepted, at least by one, the only one that mattered. For a moment he saw that fleeting future and held onto it, tying that vision close to his heart. He allowed himself to believe for a moment that it could be true. Anything seemed possible with him.

XXX

He accidentally stayed later than anticipated. He entered the house hoping not to be noticed. Mother stood in the entranceway though, waiting for him. "Where were you?" She asked, her voice full of venom. She was furious. At the moment he couldn't care less about her opinion. Hers wasn't the one that struck fear in him.

"Is father home?" He asked.

She shook her head. "He had to stay for a meeting at the Federation; he hasn't come yet." His shoulders slightly laxed at this; he hadn't realized how tense he had been.

His eyes suddenly felt heavy; it had been a long day. With the immediate danger gone, he automatically went upstairs, the stresses of the day slowly wearing on him. "Spock. You still didn't answer my question."

"I was away," He numbly replied. His voice sounded distant, as if it did not come from him.

"That still doesn't answer my question!"

He turned to her, suddenly full of fury. "Why do you care?!" He shouted.

He was sick of his life. He was fed up with being constantly questioned, constantly judged, constantly having to look and monitor and worry about every action. He could never escape it. Never. He could never be free from judgement, never be free to express himself, to not worry about every word, every action, and every possible repercussion. Did he speak too much? Did he speak too little? Did he say it too loud, too soft, with too much tone or emotion? Did his face reveal too much, was he enough? Every single moment these questions bombarded him, and then just once, just once, he acquired a taste of something different. He gained a glimpse, a sliver of a potentially different future. Before he accepted it because he thought no other alternative existed for him. He never believed anyone could accept him without judgement. At Jim's house, though, he wasn't judged—he wasn't afraid to be himself. He was treated as normal. That was all he ever wanted in life, was that too much to ask? Why was life so cruel to him? Why did it have to be so unfair? Why was he born this way? Why was he even born?

The moment he came home he was immediately questioned, and reality hit him again. This was his life. This would always be his life. He would live and die constantly under surveillance and judgement and hatred from others. It was inevitable. At that moment it struck him all at once. He realized he hated his life, and he hated himself more. He hated that he had to live this life, a life he didn't even choose and had no choice in. This was not his life—this was someone else's that had been decided for him. It was the reality that hurt the most, the inevitability that he couldn't even change this.

She stared back, saying nothing. Her eyes were lit ablaze. Waves of bright red and black radiated off of her that he had never felt before. It was even stronger than Jim's and more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before or since. It was terrifying to feel from such a person, much less his mother. They stared at each other for a minute. He was too afraid to look away now, despite wanting to shrink and run he stood firm. When she finally spoke her voice came out low, shaking. He didn't' mistake it for weakness though, but the control holding back the floodgates of her fury.

"I care because I am your Mother. As your mother, Spock, I deserve to know, whether you like it or not. I will only say it once again, and you will answer. Where were you?" He stared at her dumbfounded. Her eyes burned into his very soul, scorching him. He knew it better than to lie.

"I was at an acquaintance's house. We were working on a project. I was not at the library but with him." He replied softly, afraid to say the words. Saying it aloud made the words true, and that was dangerous. Despite logically knowing his father was not here his shadow still haunted him, his presence an everlasting fear in the household. He could scarcely believe he managed to say the words.

His mother softened, the bright fury escaping her eyes. Her shoulders softened, her eyes watered. She smiled sadly at him, sympathy and love pouring out of her. Like a cascading river, it swirled around them in soft pinks and blues.

"Oh Spock...why didn't you tell us?" He said nothing in reply. They both knew why.

She reached out and stroked his cheek, just as she did when he was a child. Her hand was still soft and warm despite the ages, a constant comfort just like it had been then. From her touch, he instantly felt her love outpouring into him, and he accepted and reciprocated his own silently. She hadn't touched him like that since he was a child. She had stopped touching him years ago when it became too improper. He hadn't realized how much he missed it.

He looked at her now, staring. It's odd how things change without you realizing. He hadn't really looked at his mother before, at least not in a long time. She had always been there, but he had never taken the time to notice her. She looked strange now—so different than the image he had of her as a child, the one he still clung to. She looked so much smaller, so much more broken, and imperfect. When he was a child, she had been the embodiment of perfection, just like all children like to think of their mothers. Here though, she looked like a stranger compared to that image. Had she always appeared this tired? Had she always looked this burdened? Had she always struggled with this pain? Had it always been there or was this new? Had he just failed to notice?

He suddenly turned away, the guilt eating away at him. He could no longer stand meeting her eyes. He was not worthy to meet her eyes. He had been thoughtless in his suffering. He had only cared about how it affected him. He arrogantly thought he was the only one suffering, he hadn't even considered his mother's perspective. His perfect mother, his beautiful perfect mother, was suffering too. Though not the same as him she suffered in ways he could not imagine. He was only half-Vulcan. She was human, and so brokenly, imperfectly human. He could not imagine how life on Vulcan had been for her; to be the only one of her species on a planet full of aliens, thousands of miles from home. Though she chose this life, she couldn't have possibly known the pain she would bear. The pain she would bear because of him. It was all because of him that she suffered. He was the cause of her pain, and he had been ignorantly ignoring it. How had he not seen it sooner?

He slowly forced her hand away. She initially reached out again. He stared at her, his eyes silently pleading. She slowly lowered her hand. She understood. He hated himself for doing this, for forcing his mother to suffer. He hated that he had to do this, but he must. It was only inevitable, this couldn't continue. He couldn't let her hope for more, it would only hurt them more in the end. He was not a child anymore, and as such, he had to bear the responsibilities. He could no longer be touched, or loved, or held in any capacity. She could no longer love him like she had when he was a child, no matter how much they both wanted it. It could not be allowed anymore. It was a reality they had to bear.

He suddenly was exhausted, all the fears and tensions had taken away every drop of energy from me. " I am going to bed."

"All right, did you eat?"

"Yes, Jim's family provided adequate sustenance," He replied. Her brows furrowed, then softened.

"Right, of course."

"Good night, Mother."

"Good night, Spock." He walked upstairs and then paused.

"Mother could you please not tell Father of his whereabouts tonight, or of Jim?"

"Spock I—"

"Please," He stared at her, his eyes begging. She grimaced, the emotional turmoil churning within her.

"All right, I promise I won't tell him. At least this time."

That was enough for now. All he wanted was to delay the inevitable—his Father would eventually find out, but that was a battle for another day. "Thank you," he said and went to bed.

**Author's Note: **

We finally get to meet the Kirks! I enjoyed writing this chapter, it was fun filling in Jim's background/childhood and seeing Spock interact with them. I also enjoyed writing this small scene with Amanda at the end. Amanda has always been one of my favourite characters since the "Journey to Babel" when she and Spock talked about his childhood and she begged him to donate his blood. I think she's one of the more interesting minor female Star Trek characters who is not just some love interest or a plot point. I'll likely write later about both Jim & Kirk's mothers perspectives down the lines regarding their sons. Anyway, I hoped you enjoy this. Also, I will not be updating next week as I have exams soon and this one was a rather long/hefty piece to write. I'll update two weeks later, so not too long of a break.


	8. Chapter 8 The Meeting

**Chapter 8. **

They were walking back home when Jim broke the news to Spock. "Spock, I need to tell you something."

"Jim, if you forgot something at the school it will take approximately—"

"No, it's not that." Spock waited expectantly.

Jim shifted on his feet, looking rather uncomfortable. Finally, he blurted out: "I have a girlfriend."

"What?"

"I said I have—"

"I know what you stated."

Instantly shocked passed through Spock. His mind went for the first time blank, as if it couldn't process those words, as if it refused to believe them. This had to be a joke or some elaborate trick. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be right. This was impossible. He could not make himself believe it was possible. Though he shouldn't have been surprised. It was inevitable. Even when he had first met him he had known it was inevitable that he would date someone eventually; the only question had been when. Jim was objectively the most suitable partner. He was well-liked, well-spoken, charming, objectively conventionally attractive and fit. He was emotional and surprisingly romantic, dreaming of the idealized high school experienced he binged in old Terran movies. He was everything that was scientifically deemed suitable in a partner and more. It was actually surprising he hadn't had a girlfriend until this point. The logic didn't make it any less shocking though, nor the pain that entailed afterwards less damning.

At first, neither said anything. Neither knew what to say, the words escaping them. What was there to say in a situation such as this? Jim was the first to speak. "Look, Spock, I just wanted to let you know before it gets too serious. You're my best friend, and you deserve to know. Nothing's going to change between us; we'll still be best friends."

"Why would anything change?" He asked, staring at him, his brows furrowed.

"Right, it wouldn't change. It wouldn't ever, at least not because of this." Spock nodded slowly, agreeing.

"What is her name?"

"Her name is Janice Rand. You've seen her before; she's in our science class." Spock nodded. It was no surprise that out of all the girls in their grade it was her either. Though he knew scarcely anything about her, from what he could tell she was the perfect match for him.

"How long have you been courting her?"

"Um...I mean we've only been dating for a few weeks. We've only been on a couple of dates. It hasn't really turned serious or anything yet." Jim said, awkwardly scratching his head. He was lying; he always did that when he lied.

"Look. The main reason I wanted to tell you is because I want you two to meet each other, like really meet each other. Tomorrow after school I'm taking Janice to the coffee shop, and I think you should join us. It'll just be the three of us. It'll be good to get to know each other."

"I do not think that would be a wise decision. I would not want to intrude—"

"Nah, it'll be fine. She's excited to meet you. Besides, both of you are the closest people I have in my life. It's important to me that you two get along. You'll like her Spock, I promise." He looked at him, his eyes wide in anticipation. How naive Jim was.

"And you are certain she is fine with this?"

He shrugged. "What could go wrong?"

XXX

He knows he shouldn't have. It was dubious and an invasion of her privacy and not for an adequate reason either. His curiosity got the best of him, though. He became fixated on the idea of him having a girlfriend. He managed to justify it from the fact that he was looking out for Jim, that he was protecting him by making sure she was worthy of him. Even then he knew it was merely a lie.

"Computer search name: Janice Rand, Pinewood Crest Highschool"

"Found one Janice Rand. Would you like him to consolidate her data?"

"Yes."

"Consolidating files now."

He skimmed the file over, though there wasn't much information that he did not already know. She was in the same grade as us, but she was closer to Jim's age as she had a young birthday, precisely October 1. While she was no prodigy, she did academically well, scoring marks around the top 10% of our class, an impressive achievement. She was also highly involved in school activities in general, heading a total of five clubs and involved as a significant member in 6 more. She loved volunteering, specifically at animal shelters, and her favourite animal, unsurprisingly, was puppies. She was intelligent, kind, charming, and by all objective measures, stunningly beautiful.

There was no large flaw, no error, nothing imperfect about her. In short, she was an equal and adequate match for James in every way. They were perfect for each other. He should have been happy. This is what he wanted right? He wanted to make sure that she was perfect for him and by all means, she was. She was far better than he could have hoped for. They would be happy together. He should have been happy for him. He found he was not, though. Why couldn't he be?

He stared at a photo of Janice from last year. It had been taken at the annual charity bake sale, headed by her as student council president and president of the baking club. He stared at the photo, noting every detail about her: her short platinum hair, bright and straight compared to Jim's sandy blonde waves. She smiled perfectly at the camera, bright and shining like an ideal poster child. Her eyes were light blue instead of brown, like the sky, clear and bright. She was truly beautiful. He could understand why he had chosen her. Yet for some reason, Spock could not convince himself to like her. How pathetic he was.

XXX

Janice was already waiting when Spock arrived. Jim, as usual, was yet to appear. She motioned for him to come sit. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, walking over. He sat opposite of her, saying nothing.

"Hello, Spock. How are you?"

"I am adequate," He replied. She nodded, not knowing anything else to say. In truth, he did not know what to say either. He was already regretting this meeting.

Janice and he were what one would call perfect strangers. Although they had known each other since freshman year, having attended many of the same classes together, they had never actually talked to each other until this moment. This wasn't the fault of hers or his. Simply, there had never been a reason. She had always had her circle of friends, whereas he kept to himself, finding no specific reason to ever need to talk to her. They had never been assigned together in projects, never had a reason to specifically ask the other anything. She was never unkind to him, simply not kind either. She was a true neutral which was a kindness in a sea of tormentors. She enjoyed her world, and he enjoyed his. If you had asked him one week prior the statistical chances of him meeting her in any manner he would have said it was highly unlikely. Yet here they were. Life tended to be like that around James Kirk though, he made all statistics seem irrelevant.

Jim quickly broke the silence, rushing over to the table. "Hi, sorry I'm late, got caught in Mrs Bordeaux's class again," Jim said, giving him a small nod to Spock before kissing Janice on the cheek, wrapping his arm around her. Spock's stomach suddenly knotted, the room becoming uncomfortably hot, shifting in his seat.

"Well then, shall we?" Jim asked. They walked to the front. Jim ordered his typical diabetes-inducing concoction. Janice ordered a classic cappuccino with cinnamon spice on top. Spock ordered a green tea again.

"So, this is Janice," Jim said, sitting.

"We are acquainted with each other," Spock replied flatly. his stomach continued tying itself in knots; he was going to be sick.

"Oh right. Well um...it looks like you guys were already talking. You guys must know each other pretty well." Jim said, awkwardly. The drinks came, it was the same barista lady as usual. She gave Jim an odd stare to which he glared at. Spock said nothing, focusing only on her. She stared at him as well, her face unreadable.

"Not really, we've never actually spoken before. I guess we just hung out in different circles." She stirred her cappuccino, suddenly intent at staring at her drink.

Spock nodded. "At most mere acquaintances. Nothing more."

"Well, then this is a great opportunity to get to know each other! I think it's been a missed opportunity. You guys I think would get along great. You're like two of the smartest people I know."

At this Janice blushed, smiling sheepishly at Jim. They started teasingly flirting with each other. The sensation in Spock's stomach worsened. He found my hands clenched to his sides, his jaw aching from clenching so tightly.

"How did you two meet anyway?" Jim asked.

"We have attended the same classes for approximately 3 years, 5 months and 4 days. We became acquainted with the other's presence in our freshman year." Spock stated, his mind on autopilot, his voice flat.

"It was Mrs Smith's class right?" Janice asked.

He nodded. "We were both placed in there due to our academic performances from our previous schools."

"I rather liked her, I thought her class was fun. What did you think of her, Spock?"

"I found her teaching methods to be unorthodox and lax compared to the previous academic rigour I was subjected to. I also found her subjectivity in the subject quite concerning, especially when discussing Earth politics regarding the 21st century with the first two World Wars. In addition, she was blatantly biased towards the female persons in our class, praising them approximately 25% more than any male counterpart, regardless of merit. She also did not follow the academic rigour required for the state tests leaving many unprepared for the national examinations."

"Oh...well, I thought it was fun," Janice said, her tone souring. He found himself pleased at that for some reason. At least now the feelings were mutual.

"Well, you both shared chem class too, right Spock? Janice was telling me about all her chemistry mishaps during her freshman year. Did anything like that happen to you?" Jim asked, his tone sounding desperate, almost pleading.

"Negative. As I was perfectly competent to follow the instructions Mr Bernard gave us to adequately complete the experiments in an efficient manner." Janice frowned more. He did not care.

"Well, I guess that's not much of a surprise. I was never really good at chem. I could never sit still enough for it. I didn't have the patience to wait for the results." Jim and Janice continued chatting.

The sensation in his stomach rose to his chest. He suddenly came to identify the emotion: rage. It was fury, an insidious rage he had never felt before. It made him want to scream and destroy her with all of his being. He could not stay any longer. He could not stand this any longer.

"Excuse me, Jim, I have forgotten I have other business to attend to at this moment," Spock said, standing.

"Are you sure, Spock? We just got here—" Jim stared at him in concern.

"I assure you that while I regret having to leave, I have urgent business to attend to at the moment." This was the first time he lied to him. He hoped he didn't suspect anything. He walked towards the door.

"Wait, Spock, we can take our drinks to go and walk home together—"

"I assure you, it's a private matter that I would prefer to deal with alone." Jim's brows furrowed deeper, growing suspicious.

Spock forced a smile. He could do this, just five more seconds. He could do anything for five more seconds. "It is not of significant importance, but I must take care of it quickly. Besides, I would not want to ruin your and Janice's meeting by forcing you to escort me home. Enjoy yourself, Jim, I will see you tomorrow."

Jim stared at him, still confused but eventually sat again. "All right...I'll see you tomorrow Spock."

He nodded at Janice, using every inch of his willpower to contain himself. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Spock," Janice said.

"It has been an interesting experience. I hope this experience has been as pleasant as it has been for me to become acquainted with you." He said, he then walked out of the coffee shop, not caring to look back.

XXX

Once out of sight of the coffee shop he ran as fast as he could so that Jim could not see him. Once completely out of sight he stopped, panting. His chest ached though he couldn't tell if it was from overexertion or the stress from the day. The pain in his stomach had only worsened, the sensation spreading like a virus all over his chest, like a thousand needles pricking his soul. His head pounded, as if someone was beating a drum against it. What was wrong with him? What had overcome him at the cafe? He thought it was seeing them and feeling uncomfortable around them, but now that he was far away it was only worsening. Perhaps it was something he consumed today, though nothing came to mind. What then, could be the reason?

His headache began worsening, the pounding insufferable, becoming the only sound he could hear. The pain in his stomach continued burning, threatening to sear him from within. He could not think straight from the pain, as each step it worsened. Each time he attempted to think of the root cause the pain only increased by a thousandfold. His vision began blurring as he winced, almost drunkenly walking across San Francisco. He could not continue in this state. He needed somewhere to rest.

Where could he go, though? Home was out of the question. Besides it being too far from here, other variables made it unappealing. Even if by some miracle he made it home, which was doubtful considering the rate his faculties seemed to be decreasing, it would only be worse there. His emotional state was clearly unchecked, and his father would immediately notice. He would interrogate him about the matter, and then find out about Jim and that was not an option. Besides, his father would only worsen his emotional stability, and it would harm them both. He could not risk it. School was also out of the question. It was closed by now, and too far of a walk to go back. The only other places he knew that were close by were some restaurants. But considering how low on money he was, not to mention the fact of him passing out in a restaurant would not be an ideal situation, those weren't viable options either. The only other place was... of course, the library.

He slowly wandered his way there, keeping one eye open enough to see where he was going, following the mental map in his head. His mind seemed to be deconstructing within itself, unable to reign the emotions that were destroying him from within. A tidal wave of emotions threatened to overpower him in waves, barely able to recover a breath or break in between. His mind was sporadic, his thoughts unformed incoherent fragments that were completely nonsensical and illogical. He was too weak to control them. They jumped loosely and freely, making a jarring and nauseating experience. His emotions now dictated him, threatening to assume absolute control. He was incapable to stop them, or even moderate or control them. They jumped from one memory to the next with a will of their own. A flash of the sands of Vulcan, a flash of his first day of school on Earth, a flash of Jim's smile. Emotions tinged the edges of each memory, feeling them magnified to levels he had never been able to feel before. He felt joy, embarrassment, anger, sadness, kindness, jealousy, hope, guilt all in a thousandth of a second. It all centred around Jim. Even in his delirious state, he could not stop thinking about him. Why did his mind always come back to him? Why must he think of him now?

He managed to stumble to the library, taking twice as long compared to his usual efficiency. He stumbled in, tripping over himself. He sloppily pulled a chair out from one of the tables, falling into it because he was afraid he would be unable to stand again. Mrs Weaver soon found him and came over.

"Spock! What's wrong, what happened? Are you all right?" She asked, her voice full of panic and concern. He focused her but found there were two of her.

"I will be...fine in a moment. I just need to rest." He grimaced, the headache made even speaking painful.

"Maybe I should call your parents—"

"Do not," He said, managing to put all his willpower behind those words.

"There is no need to concern them. I will return when I am in a more adequate state. It would be...illogical." He managed to mutter, grimacing. Beads of sweat fell down his forehead from the exertion.

"Are you sure you're alright Spock?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

"I will be fine...I just need to rest." He managed to slip out. Then the world became dark and silent, and he remembered nothing else as the darkness overtook him.

XXX

When he finally awoke, it was dark, the fading light of the sunset casting long shadows outside, creating a kaleidoscope of warm pink and reds through the windows. He instinctively grabbed his padd and checked the time. It was 6:10 pm; he had been unconscious for roughly 2 hours now. He slowly stood, wincing from the pain. His head still ached, but it was only a phantom of the pain compared to what it had been previously. Mostly he only felt physically exhausted. His body ached everywhere, as if he had just run a marathon. His chest was still heavy and tight, like a constant weight being pressed upon it. His hands ached from clenching too tight, he must have been clenching them in his sleep. His stomach still burned but it had mostly subsided, and he was strong enough now to make it home.

Mrs Weaver noticed he was awake, quickly rushing to his side. He was surprised at her presence, assuming she would have been gone by now, though logically that did not make sense. She could not house a minor here unmonitored and could not lock the door either. He suddenly felt guilty that he had inconvenienced her with his actions. He had not considered how it would affect her.

At the moment she did not seem annoyed by him. In fact, she appeared rather concerned. "Spock, are you all right?"

"I am better now, thank you." She seemed unconvinced.

"Are you sure? I tried contacting your parents, but I didn't know your password to your also considered calling emergencies, but, well, you know how the emergencies are."

He nodded, sitting up. "I am sorry I have inconvenienced you,"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm more worried about you Spock. What happened?" She asked, her eyes widening in concern. He thought back to the afternoon, the pain in his head increased, sharpening. He winced, straightening himself.

"I cannot explain exactly, but I will be fine. Thank you for allowing me to use your time and your facility here."

"Of course Spock, you're welcome here anytime. It's getting late, do you need me to call a cab?"

"Oh no, I would not want to inconvenience you any more. Besides, I only live approximately 10 minutes walking distance from here. I should leave, my parents are likely wondering about my presence."

"Of course! They must be worried!" Worried would not be the word he would use to describe my father's concerns.

"You must go now! Immediately, but safely. All right Spock, have a good evening and stay warm!" He nodded, thanking her again.

The walk home took him approximately 13 minutes instead of his usual 10 due to his health condition but it was considerably better than before. It was least manageable enough now, controllable enough. Mother and Father were already home & dinner was already served by the time he arrived. He unceremoniously grabbed a plate and sat for dinner. They did not mention his unusual tardiness, nor did he make a mention of it either.

As usual, they did not talk much about anything. Dinners were often a silent affair, where one could contemplate and compartmentalise the events of the day. He thinks Mother asked him about his day; his memory was still hazy, though, foggy and out of focus. He still felt ill, the effects of his experience still weighing on him heavily. His head still pounded, his vision still blurred and his stomach still churned within him. In truth, he could barely focus, much less hold a conversation. He felt out of place, as if he wasn't there, only a part of him was. He was trapped inside his body, floating distantly away as he watched as if an outsider to his mind. He simply performed the motions, with no purpose behind them. He still was fragmented, shattered into a thousand pieces. He didn't each much but quickly excused himself and went to his room.

Once in his room, alone to contemplate the events of the day, the pain began to worsen again. This time though he was more prepared for it and understood what it was. He sat on his bed, rubbing his temples, though it didn't help much. He had quickly realized that while the pain was real, it was not a physical cause but a psychological one. The pain was more internal, deeper, more soul-wrenching than any physical headache. He had suffered such pain before, but it had never been this severe. Now that he understood what it was, though, he knew how to mend it.

He lit some Vulcan incense candles on the table, the smoke filling the room with scents of a home long forgotten. He laid as comfortably as he could and closed his eyes. He forcefully willed himself to slow his breathing, focusing on his breath. He focused on the physical sensation of it entering his lungs, then exiting, the pressure building and then releasing, under his control this time. Gradually, he let himself fall deeper as he entered his mind.

Because of being a touch telepathic species, Vulcan minds are much more sensitive to emotions and those of others. Amplified by his human side, it has led to unprecedented physiological effects caused by emotional turmoil. It was an affliction that had plagued him since childhood. It was one of the primary reasons we moved to Earth, as it became too difficult to manage it as he became older and his emotions became deeper. The problem was not only the harm it afflicted him, but also the danger it posed to others. In ancient times psychic trauma had been used as a weapon, in which the afflicted could manipulate their anguish to attack others by inflicting it as psychic torment. It was why meditation and self-control were so highly emphasized in Vulcan culture, especially around children. It was a necessity for a functioning peaceful society—the only way to maintain it. His blood simply made him too weak to control it, the instability within him too strong.

Fortunately, Surak developed a way to alleviate this pain in an outlet that would not be destructive towards others. This was through a deep meditation, entering a trance-like state called the Other World in Terran. The Other World represented a physical manifestation of your mental psyche which you could heal. While other Vulcans could see it if you allow them, most times this healing was done individually unless it was severe enough that you were incapable of healing yourself. It was a form of healing that was not destructive to the victim or anyone around them. He had learned it as a child when conventional methods became worthless and had mastered it quickly. And this is where he entered to assess himself.

When he entered, he immediately felt the turmoil, the ground trembling under him. His mind was fragmented, thousands of shards of emotions laid unkempt, chaotically strewn across the room. Tangents of thoughts and memories flew past him, circling, tempting him to listen to their siren songs. He willed them away. He then began to clean and organise the mess of his mind. Slowly and painfully he listened to each emotion, connecting the memory and compartmentalising it into its rightful place. The process was deliberate and painful but the only way.

Many were unsurprisingly of Jim. For instance, the feeling of Jim's smile when he grinned at him, or when they played chess or discussed a hypothetical situation, or when Jim became passionate about his idea to the point he could not speak. There were also painful ones, though. His insecurities, his fear of abandonment, of losing him. Intermingled in the emotions were tinged memories—the Vulcan bullies, the stares from teachers, the anger and confusion at his existence. Each he suffered a thousand times by now and knew by heart. He let the emotions enter him, but he was not going to be controlled by them any longer.

This then left only the events of today, pulsating and powerful, their pain still present and throbbing, like a raw wound, begging to be healed. Even without touching them, they radiated heat, an energy that sought to destroy everything within him. It radiated so brightly it was nearly blinding, scorching to the touch. He had to do it, though. It was the only way. He willed himself to relive it again.

He stood in the cafe again, but it was different than before. The events were the same, but he was not. He was a mere outsider, watching this interaction, unable to control or alter what will occur. He watched as Jim talked to her, wrapping his arm around her, using that kind smile of his towards her. He watched as she laughed and giggled, pulling herself closer, content to be in his embrace. He watched his eyes soften in a way that never softened when he was around. He watched that smile, that smile he knew and rarely saw, and how easy he wore it for her and how he was foolish enough to think it was only for him. They were perfect together...and Jim was so happy. He should have been happy for him, but he found himself furious. He could feel the rage building within him, both then and now, as he rewatched the memory. But he could not comprehend why. Why did he feel this way? Why was it him? Why was it always him?

A torrent of memories flew around him. Jim saying his name, the heat it gave him across his cheeks. Jim when he first held his hands in the cafe, the embarrassment strong but the want stronger. Every time Jim had touched him, catalogued and remembered, each time disappointed when it had ended, but gratified it had happened because it was a moment he was close to him. The look of kindness Jim gave him that melted his soul and caused him to want to do anything to keep it. The smile Jim gave that radiated like the sun and made him believe in impossibilities. It made him believe even in this impossibility. The memories flew faster and faster and more chaotic around him, surrounding him, the mix of emotions entering him chaotically. He felt more deeply and more uncontrollably than he ever had in his life. This was a mistake. He could not control this. He needed to escape. He willed himself back into reality.

He opened his eyes again, his breath catching. He slowly oriented himself back into reality. He was in his room, sitting on his bed. It was dark now, though. He turned, the clock read 10:00. He had meditated for 3 hours, longer than he had ever before. The pain in his head had only worsened, and he lied down, too exhausted to return, too afraid of what he would discover. He did not want to know. He did not want to do this anymore. All he wanted was him.

He stared at Jim's profile picture in his padd. For a moment he was tempted to call him, tempted to hear his voice, tempted to hear him say something, anything. But what would he say to him? What did he need him to say to him? What did he desire? Why did he want to hear his voice so greatly when it already plagued his mind, when he could hear it every thought, every word, every memory he no longer desired to remember? Why, despite all the pain, did he continue to want to be beside him? Why did he keep punishing himself in this way? Why did he want him here now, when that was the most illogical, worst solution? Why did he need him here the most when he was the most broken? Why was he always so broken?

He relit the incense, the smoke filling the room. He laid, closing his eyes. He entered it again but this time at a distance. He was wary, cautious enough now to know better. He cleaned the room, this time barely letting himself feel the emotions before locking them away, repressing them. Every emotion, inclination, and thought were repressed, locked away for a later date. It was the only way at the moment. He was too weak to do anything else. He doubted he would ever be strong enough to face them. He continued cleaning, locking and repressing, the room slowly becoming darker and darker. He forced the light away, forced the memories to hold no meaning, no significance, no control over him anymore. He detached himself, breaking himself but in a controlled manner. It would have to do for now. In the end, he stood alone, no memories, no thoughts, no emotion, nothing. he was surrounded by darkness, empty for once. For once he truly felt nothing, just like a Vulcan would. He had never realized how dark and lonely it was and how he would miss the voices and memories.

**Author's Note **

Here's Chapter 8, in which we get angsty teenage Spock. This was fun/interesting to write despite the angst. I have always had a fascination with psychology, and thought it was fun to represent Spock's mental psyche in a physical way. This is heavily based on actual meditation techniques/usage of mind palaces used by people. If anyone has seen BBC Sherlock then you will likely understand this more. Anyway, I hoped you enjoy this and please review!


	9. Chapter 9 Memories & Realisation

**Chapter 9.**

When he awoke the next morning, he found he felt much calmer than the turmoil from the night before. He felt more at ease, his mind finally at peace. A calmness in him he had not felt in a long time washed over him, dulling his senses. He was not happy, or sad, or angry, or anything really. He only felt apathy, but even that felt too strong, merely empty, devoid of anything. It was as if all his senses were now blocked from him, a barrier placed to protect himself, which in a way it had been. Such progress was promising, it meant the worst was over. It was all behind him. The pain was only a ghost now, only a dull memory that felt like it happened to another person in another lifetime. The memories still stood, but they had lost their vigour, their power, their emotional colour drained all out of them. They were reduced to nothing but facts, no longer able to torment him. His mind no longer swam with thoughts uncontrolled, or fears or anxieties. It was now a perfectly working machine, purposeful and controlled, under his control. It was only full when he willed it to be, and empty when he was demanded. He was a shell of himself but for the sake of sanity. It was the price to pay for serenity. It was the price to pay for contentment.

Even the events of last night felt dull in comparison to what they had been before. They felt distant, foggy as if looking through a distorted mirror. Those events were not a part of him, not anymore at least. It was detached from him. For a moment he felt a glimpse of the previous emotions at full force, the anger, the sadness, the pain, but he willed it away, breathing heavily. He was in control of emotions. He was in control of himself. The past could not harm him. He would not let the past harm him. He forced his mind to bend to his will again. He was now left alone, his mind empty again, sitting in his room. It could not hurt him as long as he controlled it. Still, it was best not to test it. He prepared himself to attend school.

The minute he saw Jim at school the pain began to ache immediately at ten-fold. All the events came crashing down on him, the fragile barriers he had created broke instantaneously, destroying everything. His heart wrenched, shattering into a thousand pieces, his stomach knotting a thousand times over, the room spinning as he fragmented again, his emotions destroying him from within. The pain in his head worsened to a degree he had never felt before, as he struggled to stand or even see straight. He quickly ran into an empty classroom, hiding from Jim, letting the pain subside. As soon as Jim was gone the pain lessened, though it still throbbed as a broken gaping wound. This would be more severe than he thought. He thought he had healed, but he had only masked it, the wound still weak and broken. As long as he saw him, the memories would return along with the pain and the emotions tied with it. He could not do it. He could not bear it. He let the emptiness wash over him again, let the pain wash away like the sands in a tide. He forced the emotions down, forced himself to feel nothing again. It was better at times to experience nothing than something, especially if it only caused harm.

For the rest of the day, he avoided Jim. He tried the first few classes, but he was relentless in his determination to not see him. After Jim grabbed his shoulder and he involuntarily winced he stopped. There was pain etched in Jim's face that broke him only further. Yet even not seeing him the pain still persisted. It was a constant reminder of his weakness, his inability to control his imperfections and defects as a Vulcan. Shame churned within him, a sickening feeling that weighed on him and made him nauseous to his core. Each day it only worsened as he continued school. The turmoil ceased to rest no matter how many times he attempted to control it, no matter how many boxes he locked it in, no matter how many times he forced it to rest. He could not control them; he was too weak. When they did not haunt him in his wake, they haunted him in his dreams, calling for him, begging to be heard, to make him suffer. Every day he grew weaker, and they only became stronger at his expense. Why would the pain not stop? Would it ever stop or was this his destiny?

He meditated to try to control it. Days turned into weeks, and eventually, a month had passed but it was no use. There was no use in controlling it. It could not be locked down, it could not be boxed, the locks always broke, it always roamed free. He was powerless to himself and all the more pathetic. Every day he feared he would break from a single look. He was useless.

He knew what had to be done. He had to destroy the emotions that were causing the breaks. He had to address the actual problem and destroy it. The very thought terrified him, though, because he did not know what he would find. He did not know why he felt so much pain or why he was constantly lacking an ability to control it. He would have to do this alone, though. To involve his parents would mean discussing Jim, and he did not want to share him with anyone, especially them. Not only would it mean the end, but to discuss such a weakness would only bring further vulnerability and shame from his Father, and he could not bear to live with that. Thus, one night he decided he would not exit until he discovered the issue. He entered the Other World.

Inside it was more broken than he realised. Deep cracks had formed within the structure itself. The ground shook under his feet. Every step and every action had to be calculated, or else the structure of his mind would cease to exist. Blood dripped from the walls, thick and metallic, suffocating the air. He was infected, sick, and he had to uncover the cause and exterminate it quickly. He carefully stepped over the cracks and creaks and valleys, searching. He finally unearthed it in a hidden corner, shadowed away in the darkness. Even without touching it, he could feel the pain, sensing the trauma in a thousandfold as it reverberated across the room. It was an ancient wooden box, one that had been locked a thousand times but it still escaped, the chains unable to contain it all. It was bleak and burned, the wood creaking under the pressure from within. He must open it though to find out why it caused him to suffer so.

Slowly, he unlocked the box.

He was not inside his mind anymore. He was in Jim's room. It was the first time he had been there. He watched him smile, hope glimmering in his eyes as hope built within him too. He looked into his eyes and knew there was truth in them, despite the impossibility, despite the irrationality and logic dictating otherwise. He gave him hope to defy the odds, and that was enough for a lifetime. It was also a danger though, an Icarus curse. That was when he promised himself to always stand by his side, no matter the possibility or probability. He would always stand by his side. It was only the beginning.

The scene changed, and it was the first day of school. He looked even more angelic in memory, the light from the window giving him a halo. He was left awestruck again, his beauty incomprehensible to the mind. He looked like a Greek statue come to life, godlike to mere mortals. His heart thrummed in his chest, his eyes widened. He could not stop staring, wondering who the boy was behind those eyes.

They were walking home from school one day when he touched him on the wrist. Spock stiffened but Jim didn't notice. He slowly began keeping a tally, marking every memory, every touch, disappointed when it ended. He should have been thankful it even happened, scandalised at even it happening. Instead, he wanted more. He always wanted more.

They were walking in the hallway, and he heard him laugh. His usual laugh which took control of him as he held his head back to the sky. It was a laugh that filled the room and made one not feel so empty anymore. It was light yet filling, a harmony of yellows and whites. Spock watched as his nose scrunched, his mouth agape, his eyes closed, a look of sheer ecstatic joy etched upon his face. It was beautiful. It was the first time he realized how beautiful he was. He never wanted to stop staring. He wanted him to laugh like that for the rest of his life.

Slowly the scenery around him played as more and more memories bombarded him. Every laugh, every joke, every smile, every touch, all of it screaming at him with an intensity that threatened to destroy his very being. He screamed back in torment, but it would not stop, only increasing with intensity. A painless pain blew through him. He screamed for it to stop, but nothing came. He cried; he pleaded, but they would not listen. He fell, the room darkening.

Suddenly he was in the cafe again. He was sitting across from him and Janice. They were happy, and he should have been happy but he wasn't. He noted how she touched him, how he held her in his arms, his easy smile resting onto her. He watched how she could hold him so easily, how she could be so close so easily, something he would never be able to do. He observed in excruciating detail how many times they touched, how many times they laughed and whispered. He then watched as he was alone. Always alone, never enough. Always destined to be alone. Always cursed to be alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

He awoke in his room, his eyes widening. He checked the clock. It was nearly 7 am. he would have to get ready for school soon. He had not slept all night; he had merely meditated for 8 hours straight. It was a new record, though it did not feel like something worth celebrating. Slowly, as the events cleared away, the pain did not subside, but only brought clarity of its truth. Through this, he saw aspects of himself he hated more than usual, things he did not want to know or see about himself. He saw the terrible, the emotional, the imperfect ugly side of him. He could not even blame it on him being human; it was just him. His behaviour towards Janice had been completely illogical, dangerous and outright crass. he was ill-willed towards her when there was no need to be. He realised though he did not loathe her, only what she represented. She possessed something he could never have—her relationship with Jim.

But why did her relationship cause so much pain and for this long? There was nothing wrong with their relationship. She perfect for him, and he was happy with her, the happiest he had seen him in weeks around her. There was no reason for the volatility to the relationship. After all, Jim had plenty of friends & he had never reacted to them. But then...they weren't just friends. They were dating, bond mates, significant others, lovers and any other term under the sun. He detested her for something that he could not have. That he should not have. That he could never have because he could never see him like that. And why should he? Jim was free to choose anyone he liked, and if it brought him happiness then he logically should have been happy for him. But then, this wasn't a logical reason to oppose it, was it?

And that was when he had to confront the worst part of him. The selfish part that had grown for him, the human possessive side of him. The side he could not control, and a part of him did not want to control it. That part did not care that Jim was happy, because that happiness was not from him. It had become selfish, wanting to be the sole cause of his happiness. He had put his own wishes above his happiness, which was why it caused such a volatile reaction within him. His human side, his worst side, was controlling him and wreaking havoc within him. What exactly did he want, though? But he already knew and hated himself for it.

He wanted to be his and his alone. He wanted to be the only one at his side, he could have many but he wanted to be his alone. He wanted to be the one who made him happy. He wanted Jim to be the first person he saw in the morning and the last before he fell asleep. He wanted to stand at his side...the only one at his side. He wanted to be the reason he smiled, he laughed, he had that sparkle of love in his eyes. He wanted to wander the galaxy with him, explore new worlds, create new wonders, always with him safe by his side. He wanted to grow old with him, for the first time in his life he had seen a future and it was with him. He wanted to be Jim's, and Jim be his. He wanted Jim to desire him as desperately as he desired him.

He wanted...more than the friendship he was given.

And this, this yearning, this selfishness is what he hated the most about himself. It was not even the fact of it being uncontrolled but the fact of its existence. It was illogical, foolish, arrogant and egotistical to want more than what was given to him. He did not deserve more than what he was given, his friendship already was more than he could have ever expected. His friendship should have been more than enough. If he was like Jim, it would have been enough. But he was not. He could not be, no matter how much he knew he should be. It was also illogical to think there could ever be more for him. Was he really arrogant enough to believe he could ever want more? How could he even entertain such a possibility? He did not deserve him, and he certainly deserved better than him. This was only further proof. He had indicated no reason to think there was more, and all attempts were mere folly.

Besides, there had already been enough. He had shared in his joys, his kindness, his camaraderie. He had already given him so much, why did he need more? But no, all he could think was that he needed more, his greed destroying him. No matter how much he tried to destruct these feelings they persisted, this continual want, this continual rage. It was a multifaceted anger at Jim, at Janice, at the world, but especially himself. He hated himself the most because he hated his patheticness, the cause of his rage. His weak human nature was the cause and his destroyer.

A Vulcan would not suffer this way. A Vulcan would be able to control this. A Vulcan would not be controlled or contain such hatred and regrettable emotions—they are above that. But he was not Vulcan and never would be. He would always be inferior, always plagued by these human faults of his, these cracks within him that attempted to destroy him. That was his destiny. He would never be able to fit into one or the other. Always split between mind and spirit, head and heart. Human and Vulcan, always alone, always inferior. he was not enough, but at the same time too much. Two acts simultaneously, a paradox of problems. He was too weak to suppress his emotions but not strong enough to act on them. He was not good enough to be his friend but not brave enough to tell him. In the end, the fault was not his but his. He was always the one at fault. He was a coward who runs and tries to deny their emotions, and he would continue to be a coward for the rest of his life. Because he would always be plagued by his emotions, and therefore he would always have to conceal them. And that was the fate he was given.

Jealousy scorned his world. It was the cause of everything. It was a hideous emotion, mixed with anger and yearning that only caused destruction. It was intoxicating too though, and so tempting with its fibs and lies. It was so tempting to believe in it, to believe he could be justified, and it fed into his fantasies to strengthen itself. It was this emotion that controlled him, yet the truth had not strengthened him. It had only made him weaker. How could one word, one mere concept, a construction of the mind, control so little yet so much? How had one word come to control his life? And more importantly, what was he to do?

XXX

At school, they continued avoiding each other. It was for the best. He would be happier this way in the end. He would soon get over him. It hurt now but the pain was temporary, and it would be over quickly. He had plenty of friends and would make plenty more. In the grand scheme, he was a small blip, a dull memory that would quickly fade away. It is unlikely they would ever see each other again a few years later, and Jim would eventually move on. Jim had plenty of stars in his light to brighten his world, unlike he. His friendship could never have meant as much as it did for him. That was merely fact.

He could not explain himself in a way to make this any better, because he would never admit to him his true feelings. He could barely admit these emotions to himself, and to admit them to him was an impossibility. Not only would it be detrimental to him, but also Jim. It was impossible that Jim reciprocated an ounce of his true emotions, and to put him in such a position, especially since he had a significant other now, would be awkward and detrimental to any lasting relationship they had. It would mean the permanent end of our relationship. He would not force him into such a position. But more than that, it would mean rejection by him and he could not stand that, because that would mean confronting the truth, and he did not want to see the truth in front of him. Besides, he did not have the strength or courage to even think about making such a confession.

The other fact was Jim deserved better than him. He still did not know why he had chosen to be his friend. At first, Spock had thought it was morbid curiosity, but he soon learned that was not the case. Jim was too kind, magnanimous for that. He had wanted to know him, just him, Vulcan or human. Why was also a mystery, but he soon stopped questioning. As Jim had come to know him, he came to know him as well, and he soon realised he did not deserve him. He was too kind, too warm, too perfect for him. He deserved a better friend. He deserved an honest friend. Spock could not be this for him, no matter how much he wanted to be, so he was doing the best he could do.

So he avoided him. Despite the pain & guilt it caused, he forced himself to do it. Not being around him did not make the pain go away, but he would live with it. The pain now was a constant, and it only strengthened, becoming almost unbearable on a daily basis. He did not grow accustomed to it, only resigned to it, accepting this was his fate. It was a small price to pay for his happiness. He would do anything for his happiness. This was the price he paid for even attempting such a friendship and it is the price he would bear. He would not bear to wound Jim any further.

XXX

After school he liked to stay behind the columns, watching the crowds mill about before dissipating to their respective locations. This was primarily for two reasons. The first was to avoid Jim and others. It was easier this way for both of them, the fewer chances they had to run into each other the easier it would be for him. The easier it could be for him. The second was a more selfish one—by staying behind he could still observe Jim at a reasonably safe distance and observe him without him noticing. This fulfilled his selfish desires because despite distancing himself from him he could not restrain his feelings for him. The distance only made them stronger. He could not bear to know if he suffered from his actions, so, by watching him he could guarantee to himself he wasn't. After all, it wouldn't harm Jim if he did not know, and it was not dangerous to him so long as he only watched.

He stared at him from the distance. Even from here he could discern every detail about him. He watched as Jim laughed at some joke or another, playfully bantering with a classmate of ours. His head held back, his nose scrunched, large clouds of smoke emanating from his mouth. Spock smiled softly, he looked genuinely happy. Jim seemed to be taking this better than he thought, though it should have been expected. Spock was not necessary for his happiness, even though he was necessary for his. In the end, it did not matter, Jim was happy & for once he could honestly say he was happy with that. He was happy enough for him to be happy, even if he wasn't the cause.

"What are you looking at?" He turned around & was face to face with Janice.

His face flushed. Normally, with his superior hearing, he would have noticed her walking behind him but he had been preoccupied with Jim. He cursed himself for his lack of notice to his surroundings and his obvious blunder. It was obvious she had been standing there for a while, which meant it was certain that she saw him staring at her boyfriend, which only made his case worse with her. He expected her to be furious or angry or at least annoyed, but she only seemed resigned. She handed him a drink.

"Sit." She ordered. He sat on the steps, unsure, and she sat beside him. By now the school had mainly cleared & they were alone.

They sat awkwardly on the steps, each not knowing what to say. Janice still said nothing, staring off into the horizon, her face forlorn. She clearly had something weighing on her mind but refused to say anything about it, ruminating over it. She still did not appear angry with him. In fact, she barely acknowledged his existence. If not for the fact that she had specifically asked him to sit here, he would not have thought she noticed him.

It was obvious what was weighing on her mind or the general topic. It had to be about the topic they remotely shared in common: Jim. Panic rose within him. Had she noticed his feelings about him? Had she noticed his recent behaviour & knew why? But then, why now? If anything, he had been acting in a way that should have made her ecstatic. He was avoiding Jim, meaning she had him all for herself now, without fighting for his attention. It had been painfully apparent at their previous meeting that they did not like each other, especially each's relationships regarding Jim. She should have been happy he was the one who decided to step away, to let her win. She should have been delighted to possess him for herself, so why wasn't she? More importantly, how did this involve him?

He sat next to her, awkwardly trying to fill the silence. he ultimately settled with. "How are you?" The phrase came out awkward, only increasing the tension that had grown between them. It felt like a chalkboard being scratched, like sandpaper rubbing all over his skin. Despite the discomfort, he found himself oddly glued to the steps, unable to move.

"Let's drop the formalities, shall we? Look, I don't like you." He stared at her, dumbfounded, unable to respond. What was one supposed to say?

"And I know you don't like me. You made that very apparent last time we met."

"Then why..." He asked, still confused.

"Why am I talking to you? Why do you think?" They both knew.

"Jim, for whatever reason, God knows whatever reason, likes you though, really likes you. And when I say he really likes you, I mean it." She says, sighing. There was a note of melancholy in her voice, though he could not discern why.

"I know you've been avoiding him lately, after the cafe incident, and he's noticed too. He may be acting fine and all but he's really upset about the whole thing, and conflicted about it too." She said flatly, as if talking about statistics, rather than her boyfriend and his best friend.

"And I know, for whatever reason you've been avoiding him. Why I don't understand either, but I don't really care why." She grimaced, as if tasting something bitter in her mouth.

"So, here's the deal I'm proposing. I think we both acknowledge that our dislike for each other is mutual. But... both of us also agree that Jim is more important than our dislike for each other, and he deserves happiness. I'm not saying we should become friends or anything, just polite enemies. We will be perfect acquaintances around each other and avoid each other at all other times. Basically, what we had been before the cafe meeting." She said, eyeing him.

"It is not that simple."

"Oh please, don't tell me you actually don't want to be friends with him. I've seen you every day since you've started avoiding him look at him from a distance. Jim may be oblivious to it, but I haven't been. Every single day you've stared at him from here, and not just here either. In the hallways, in the classes, every moment you don't think he's looking at you, you stare. Every single day. You know for a species that's supposed to be emotionally reserved you're doing a pretty terrible job." He frowned, slightly insulted & affronted, but also embarrassed he had been that obvious.

She drew a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. I just know you care about him, and you wouldn't do anything to hurt Jim. I realised that now, considering how messed up Jim is without you. You care about him, as much, if not more as he cares about you. And I know you don't want to end your friendship with him, and he doesn't either. So, I'm asking you not to."

"It is better for him if I'm not in his life."

"Well, I'm glad we agree on that, but it doesn't matter what we think, does it? In the end, we both know what matters. God knows why he likes you, but he does, you're the closest person to him, even closer than me." He suddenly understood her sadness.

"He's not willing to give up on you, and I'm not willing to give up either. At the very least talk to him, give him closure. You're the only one who can give it to him. Believe me, if anyone else could I would be turning to them."

"But what if I am incapable?"

"Then lie, a gentle lie never hurt anyone."

"Vulcans do not lie."

"Then omit the truth. Tell him some of the truth, but not all of it. Tell your version of the truth."

She stood. "In the end, the truth or an explanation won't matter to him anyway. He doesn't want answers. He just wants you. Just consider what I've said, Spock. Seriously, consider what's best for him. I know at least I did." She then left, leaving him alone with his thoughts & anxieties.

XXX

The next day he pulled Jim aside after school. He looked at him, surprised as if he had seen a ghost. "May I speak to you in private?" Spock whispered.

Jim continued staring, shocked. He then broke into an amiable grin, but it was not his usual one. It was forced, painful. It did not meet his eyes. They were still brimmed with pain. "Sure, shoot."

They walked together for a moment in silence as Spock tried composing his thoughts into words. He did not want to lie to him if he could, but he could not admit the whole truth either. He would tell him a half-truth, a half-lie. Just like everything in his life, half true, half false, always paradoxical and enigmatic in nature.

He finally spoke. "I...want to apologize for behaviour for the prior month."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too. I know you guys aren't expected to get along but... I honestly thought you two would. And afterwards, I wanted to give you space but then..."

He stared at him, dumbfounded. Why did Jim think he had any fault in this? "You did nothing wrong. The fault is entirely mine. I was the one who did not attempt to form a relationship with her, even though it was important to you. I was the one who decided to avoid you. I thought it would be better this way...I was incorrect, and I apologize for any pain I have caused you in these past few weeks."

"Well, in all honesty, I was worried about you Spock. I mean, I know you're Vulcan and you handle things differently than me, but I also know you. I know when you don't talk to me something's usually going on. But I also know you don't like talking about it either, and it sucks because then I don't know how to help you." His gut wrenched from the guilt, like a punch to the stomach. Even when he had been cruel to him, he still worried about him.

"I have been...distracted. I have been attempting to solve personal problems one could say."

"Are you sure you're okay now, Spock?" Jim looked at him, intent and worry deep within his eyes. Waves of worry flowed off of him. He felt sicker to my stomach, the guilt building.

"I am...no, I will be fine. It has all mostly passed." He lied. It was one of the few lies he would tell him. Jim smiled softly and continued talking, the conversation drifting.

He walked beside him. He could do this. He could control this. He could bear the pain and reduce it to nothing. He was stronger than this. He was more capable. He would not be ruled by emotions any longer. He was a Vulcan and would rise to see that it would happen. He could pretend like the best of them. He could pretend to be content and happy that we were only friends. He could pretend he did not want or need more. Standing by his side was enough, his friendship could be more than enough. If not for him for Jim. He would do anything for Jim's happiness, even at the price of his own.

**Author's Note **

Some more angst for Spock. Spock FINALLY realises his feelings for Jim (a bit late I know, but it is a slow build). Honestly, this is one of the large reasons Spock is my favourite character in all of star trek, because he's one of the most complicated characters Rodenberry & Nimroy created, by giving him this turmoil they gave him a depth not a lot of sci-fi (heck, television at the time) had. I think it's also one of the major aspects that just aren't quite there in JJ Abram's writing of Star Trek either, and why it just doesn't feel exactly like Jim & Spock. Anyway, the next chapter is also a big one though and represents one of the biggest turning points in the story. Stay tuned!


	10. Chapter 10 The Fight

**Chapter 10. **

The news of the attack wasn't immediate. Initially, it was perceived as an accidental tragedy, a freak accident. Then, the reports came.

"Chaos in downtown San Francisco after police uncovered evidence of an alleged terrorist attack against the Federation. This morning, a massive truck bomb was set off prematurely one street away from Starfleet headquarters, shattering the surrounding buildings. 10 were killed, including the supposed perpetrators of the violence, and 20 were severely injured. Witness reports & security cameras show two men of non-Terran origins parking the car, describing them to be in human standards around 20 years of age, green skin, black hair & dark eyes. The motives and origins of the attacks are unknown. Further attacks or plans of attacks are equally unknown. So far, no planet in the Federation has taken responsibility for the attack, nor any other organisation. Possible enemies include..."

The news reporter droned on, listing a litany of possible planets and organisations. By then Spock had stopped listening, it was too much to listen to anymore. Father switched the channel, but it was on every news channel. Everyone was talking about the incident, each with their own speculations.

"They had pointy ears—"

"Dark beady eyes—"

"Seemed alien, terrifying even. They paralyzed me with a look—"

He finally switched off the TV. No one said anything on the matter. It was not to be a point of discussion. Spock did not want to think anything about it anyway. What was there to say? Afterwards, he went to his room and finished his thought the incident was over, but awoke late at night to hear hushed whispering. He looked over at the staircase; Mother & Father were furiously arguing with each other in the kitchen. He sat on the steps, listening.

"The attacks were logically most likely done by the Orions, ashayam. There have been numerous reports already of planned attacks, especially since the Federation has been monitoring their trafficking deals and inciting tariffs against them."

"It doesn't matter about logic, Sarek! You heard those reports and those witnesses! The truth doesn't matter anymore but the public perception of the truth and you know what it sounds like! You heard who they sound like! There's not enough information yet to prove otherwise and what people don't know they are going to be afraid of. They're going to target anyone who fits that description, even if it isn't fair or logical! It's not safe for him to go to school tomorrow. Not until the event dies down a bit."

"We cannot keep him in the house forever. He is eventually going to have to confront the world, Amanda."

"This is different! You've seen how they treated our son before the incident. Imagine what will happen when they suspect it is his kind doing this. Imagine the justified power they will claim, what their fear will drive them to do. They will take every excuse to destroy him. You do not understand the capacity for evil in humans, Sarek. It will be a slaughterhouse out there!"

"He is a Vulcan. He is stronger than this. He will survive."

"This has nothing to do with being a Vulcan or human, or strength. You cannot say he will be fine in this. You don't know that. No one knows that!"

"You are acting illogically."

"Of course I'm acting illogically. This isn't a logical situation, Sarek! I'm acting human because that is how they will act. You cannot expect them to be rational in this situation! They are not going to see him the same anymore. They will only see him as an enemy, a target for their hatred, their fear, their anger. He will become their martyr for them. Don't you see? Don't you understand?"

Father was starting to lose his temper now. "If he were on Vulcan—"

"But he is not on Vulcan anymore. He is on Earth, with half of his heritage, whether you acknowledge it or not. We are on Earth now, and they are not logical beings like Vulcans. They are emotional, irrational, and dangerous. There is no reason to believe they will adhere to logic, and we will have to suffer the consequences of their actions."

"I am attempting to do what is best for our son-"

"And I am trying to make you understand what he needs!"

"Enough! He is attending school tomorrow." Father stared at her, furious, his eyes daggers. Mother said nothing, but I could tell from her silence she was furious.

"And when he suffers, it will be on your hands. I'm leaving."

"Amanda, wait—"

Mother did not reply. The sound of her footsteps faded away, and the door snapped behind her. Father stood alone in the kitchen now, the room suddenly darker. He rubbed his eyes and turned off the light, heading to his bedroom. Spock carefully walked up the steps to his room, finding himself not tired anymore. He put on his headphones and listened to some music. It would be a long night.

XXX

In the morning, Mother was still gone. "Where is Mother?" Spock asked.

"She went to work early," Father replied. From his tone, he knew he would not anything more out the matter, so he didn't ask any further.

He departed from the house to walk to school earlier than usual, partly because he didn't want to be alone near his father any longer but also due to residual fear. He had not slept well last night; his mind had been far too awake. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still hear the report, still hear the descriptions, his imagination taking control. Every time he saw their fear, and he felt their hatred through the screen and knew they were coming for him. He could feel their need to kill, their malice crushing him. He opened his eyes again. It would be better to keep moving, to keep going. It was the only way to endure this.

Mother was right, he knew the cruelty of humans. If anything, he knew the dangers of what fear could do to people far better than her, especially to those who already harboured animosity towards him. One incident was enough. One excuse was enough to act out what they truly thought of him. The very thought of knowing their actual intentions terrified him. If their actions before were the masked 'kind' ones, he did not want to know the brutal reality. Every part of him relented against the idea of attending school, begging him to turn away, to run away from this town, this city, to hide from all of this. A thousand scenarios played in his head. He could go to the library and hide there. He could save himself. Father did not and would not understand. He could never understand because he didn't understand people, like Mother and him. He could not possibly know their cruelty. So many aspects could go wrong today, and the fact that he did not know was what terrified him the most. Humans were cruel and unpredictable creatures, with a tendency towards brutality when faced with their fears.

In the end, though, he forced these thoughts away. He pushed his fears down like he had done so many times before. Because he had no other choice, at least not an acceptable one. This was only an inevitability, and he could not escape the inevitable. He continued walking, the fear condensing within him. He consolidated his emotions, assuming a mask of impassivity. He would not let his emotions show today, especially today. Least of all would he allow them to see his fear. Fear was a weakness and weaknesses made you a target. He could not afford the luxury of any form of weakness. He reminded himself of his heritage, the history he carried in his blood. He clenched the fear within me, burying it so deep he could not even find it. He disintegrated all other stray thoughts, focusing his mind. He muttered incantations, distracting his mind in any way possible, through mind puzzles and math problems. The only sign of fear he allowed himself to show was a slight clenching of his fists, his knuckles turning white from the tension. His hands still shook, but he hid them behind his back. He kept his eyes up though, overly alert about his surroundings, his hearing extra sensitive. Danger could come from any direction, and he needed to be prepared.

He continued walking on the streets, thankful that they were unusually barren. Most did not notice him, or if they did, they did not make a point to approach him. He did not make eye contact with anyone because that meant acknowledging their existence and further confrontation. The few who did stop to stare quickly scurried away, like rats in the street. He was suddenly oddly relieved for the cold.

The mantra from the reporter continued repeating in his head, though.

"Green skin, dark hair, dark eyes..."

He could not make it stop, his mind refusing to let it stop, like a broken record. His memory analyzed the scene over and over, attempting to justify it, to understand it, to reason with it. There was no reason, though. There was no rationale. There never was.

For a moment he stared at his reflection in a puddle, his dark eyes staring back at him. He had always hated his appearance. As a child it was because he looked too human, his features too soft, too kind for a Vulcan. Now he hated it because he looked too alien, too foreign and harsh for their eyes. He could never be enough, he would never be satisfactory. He walked away.

Jim was surprisingly early at the school as well, standing at the gate by the time he arrived. "Hey Spock, didn't expect to see you this early!" He smiled sunnily.

"I was not expecting your presence this early either. What exactly are you doing here?"

"Oh you know, just going on a morning run." Indeed, Jim seemed to be. He was already drenched in sweat, wearing a large cotton T-shirt and blue gym shorts. Why one would run in the dead of winter was beyond him, especially at this hour when there was an indoor gymnasium nearby. Jim had always liked being outdoors though, so it wasn't that out of the ordinary for him. He still stared at him incredulously.

"How are you, Spock?" Jim asked, looking up at me.

"I am...adequate."

"I tried texting you last night, but you didn't answer." He checked his padd, noticing 5 calls from him throughout the night. How had he missed this?

"I am sorry...I was preoccupied last night."

"It's fine, I was just worried since you know..." Neither of us said anything, the unspoken truth exchanged between us.

Jim stared at him intently, his eyes grave again. "Are you sure you're alright, Spock? Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I will be fine. It is of no consequence. Everyone knows the Vulcans have been a steady ally to the Federation." He said, regurgitating the facts, embedded as inherent truth. It didn't make him feel better though, nor sound any truer.

"Right, of course," Jim said, not believing him. Despite his wishes, he didn't believe himself either.

XXX

Throughout the morning James did not ever leave his side. His proximity was approximately 25% closer than usual, even at moments grabbing Spock's sleeve to pull him closer. For once Spock did not mind the closeness. He just wished it wasn't necessary. Jim's conversation was still light, but it was not his usual chatter, continually becoming distracted midway in conversation. It also felt forced, surface level compared to their usual banter. He continued to fidget, distracted, nervous, almost anticipatory. Spock was also on high alert though, extremely aware of his surroundings and mentally tallying all the closest doors for escape.

In class, Jim was not much better, deciding to sit next to him. Spock for once did not retaliate though, finding himself ill at ease when not close to him. It was illogical, but he found himself comforted by his presence. It made this whole ordeal much more bearable. It was good to know someone at least had not changed around him. Throughout class Jim said nothing and hardly paid attention, mainly staring at him. There was a deep fear in his eyes, an anticipatory nervousness. He could feel the tension around him as strong as he could, the tension becoming tighter and tighter like a wound string waiting to be released.

When Jim was around no one said anything. There were plenty of stares, though. Spock had become accustomed to such stares, but they were different now. The atmosphere in the entire school was different. Their eyes trailed them like a bunch of vultures ready to feed, waiting for the perfect moment to attack on command. Fear permeated the air, thick and noxious, a poisonous fog that threatened to stifle him. It made his eyes water, his knees shake, his hands clench tighter at his side. He could feel the weight of their eyes pressing down upon him, threatening to crush him. Their anger and malice scorched him, their hatred knives that struck to his core. Even the teachers were not immune, with one nearly yelping when Spock stood to sharpen his pencil.

He remained silent though, remaining stoic as best as he could. He would not stoop down to their level. He would not play their games. He was not going to reveal anything to them, not his fear, not his anger nor his disgust. He would not give them what they wanted most, because that would mean they won and proved everything they feared about him to be true. He would not give them that satisfaction. He was a blank canvas, observing them with only a hint of suspicion in his eyes. He was better than this and would prove them wrong. He would prove them all wrong. It was a chess match, and he refused to make the first move. He refused to break first and be the scapegoat for their anger any longer. He would not bend for them. Not anymore.

It was Jim who asked him to sit in the cafeteria during lunch. Normally, he went to the library, but Jim explicitly asked him to sit with him. He typically would have refused, but the look in Jim's eyes made him dare not to say no. Logically it was better for him to stay with him. There was a safety in numbers and while the cafeteria was more crowded and thereby dangerous, it had a closer exit than the library. Not only that but it would be a lie to say he was nervous about being by himself in the school, especially when travelling to class. Jim had acted as temporary protection thus far, and he feared what would happen if Jim was not around. He dreaded what they would do if they thought he was vulnerable and alone. Besides, he knew Jim would not rest comfortably if he were not beside him. Both of them took comfort in the safety of the other.

Spock sat with Jim, Janice & a couple of his other friends at a table. They didn't say much. There wasn't much to say. No one said anything about him being there; they wouldn't, at least not in front of them. Jim continued trying to lighten the mood, talking as if it was a normal day, but even he wasn't buying it. Everyone in the cafeteria stared at them, waiting. The anticipatory tension was so thick one could cut a knife through it. It had become only stronger now, the smoke permeating the room. It bore on him heavily, the weight becoming suffocating, crushing his lungs, his mind and soul. For a moment he was tempted, so very tempted, to scream, to thrash, to break everything and prove them right, to prove he was the monster they feared. But he did nothing, his willpower forcing him to sit and do nothing. He could not stay here any longer though; he could not stand the pressure. He stood.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked.

"To the library."

"Okay, I'll come too then," Jim said, picking up his bag.

"No, stay here. You have done more than enough. He will be fine." Jim stared at him, about to argue but before he could say anything they were already walking towards them.

It was inevitable. All the tension in the room from the moment he walked into school was leading to this. The pressure was too much and bound to break. It just happened for it not to be him first. Out of all people to act out, it wasn't surprising Cromwell was the one to do it either. He had openly detested him since the beginning of his freshman year. He had already been highly prejudiced against aliens, considering them an inferior race. When he found out Spock scored better as a freshman than him, a sophomore, in every class, he had quickly come to resent him, turning violent. He had already threatened and beat him several times, only stopping because Spock learned to avoid him. He and his cronies walked over to the table, sneering.

"Saw you on the news today, gonna bomb this place too?"

One of them poured their tray on him. He merely stood there, saying nothing. He only stared at them, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible, to show no emotion, to betray nothing. It was only food; he could wash it off later. He was Vulcan. They did not break. They are stronger than this, and he was not accepting his bait. He was especially not going to break to the likes of him.

"Go back to your planet, scum." Another sneered.

He still did not say anything. His head began spinning, the ground under him uneven. He still stood, defiant. Perception was critical, and he would not put himself in any position of weakness. Past interactions had proved standing his ground would at least buy him some time. He checked behind him. The door was approximately 10 feet away; if he sprinted, he may be able to escape, but that was risky and it was too crowded to guarantee safety. Besides, there was nowhere to go. There would be nowhere to run. Nowhere in the school was safe, and Cromwell was much larger and faster than he was. He mentally prepared for the beating he would receive.

"Why don't pick on someone your own level!" Jim shouted. He stood in their face, fury flaming off of him. Fiery reds and oranges radiated from him, a fire growing within him.

Spock cringed in anticipatory worry. Cromwell stood nearly a full head taller than Jim and was nearly twice his mass. If a fight were to break out, which at the moment seemed likely, it would not end well. He knew how Cromwell fought, without mercy or kindness. It would be a brutal beating. It was a fact he did not mind and had already accepted for himself, but he did not want Jim involved. Not Jim. Anything but him. It was already too late, though. Jim had already defended him and in doing so made himself a public target in Cromwell's eyes.

"Hey, watch it, Kirk. We're just having a bit of fun here, aren't we?" He said, shoving him to the ground. Jim quickly rushed over but Spock glared at him, imploring him to not do anything rash or stupid. Jim aided him up, grimacing, clearly unhappy with his opinion on the matter.

"Beat it, Cromwell," Kirk said, his fury further concentrated.

It expanded the entire room now, his rage fierce and smouldering, burning to the touch. Everyone could feel it. It was black and putrid and dark, enveloping the entire room. Spock felt his fury and rage at a level he had never felt before, to a point that it even made him slightly scared for Cromwell.

Clearly Cromwell held no fear against Jim though. "Ooh, someone's playing the hero now!" They mocked.

"Jim, stop, let it go," Janice said, grabbing his arm and trying to force him to sit. He wouldn't yield.

Spock turned to him, his eyes pleading with him to cease, to end this, to not escalate it any further. He wouldn't listen, though. He was too stubborn and too far gone. Spock internally cried, wanting this whole situation to end, for the suffering to end now and only involve him. Why would he not listen? Why did he always have to act so foolishly? Why could he not just stop to think? Janice stared at Jim, pleading.

"Jim, cease this." Spock hissed into his ear.

'Yeah, drop it, Kirk, why don't you listen to your alien boyfriend? A freak and a freak!"

Cromwell barely finished laughing before Jim punched him square in the jaw. Jim had surprisingly struck him hard enough for Cromwell to stagger backwards, nearly falling to the ground. He snarled at Jim, lunging forward to attack. His goons, half shocked and half furious also lunged forward. Jim then jumped onto the table, barely diverting being tackled by them. The room then quickly devolved into chaos as Jim ran across the room, barely outmanoeuvring them. Soon people were taking sides, and everyone in the room was in some form participating in the fight. Some immediately joined, letting exploiting the chaos as an excuse to let out their resentment on others, screaming battle cries as they hurled punches and food at each other. Other just stoked the chaos, throwing punches and food to anyone in their proximity. Some just cowered, too confused and afraid about what was happening, hiding under any available chair or table. Shouts rang across the room as battle cries were shouted, the din making their cries indecipherable. It became a battle scene, except no one knew who was on their side. It soon became enveloped in chaos to the point that no one could escape from the fighting.

A wad of mashed potatoes whizzed past his head, who it was aimed for or from Spock did not know. He turned to look, trying to locate Jim amid the chaos. Jim was cornered against the wall with three to one, still surprisingly the one throwing the punches. His lip was bloodied, and his right eye was swollen shut, a large dark bruise already forming. He still smirked at them haughtily, still willing to fight them, despite the odds and how severely he was losing. Two of them managed to grab him by his arms, though and restrain him against the brick wall. Cromwell then began to punch him against the wall.

He doesn't remember what happened next, only bits and pieces of it. Half of it doesn't even feel real, as if it was a dream, or it happened to another person. He remembers time slowing, as if everything was purposefully melting. His heartbeat in his drummed in his head, the rhythm slowing. All the outside noise and chaos disappeared around him as he focused solely on what was happening to Jim. A few seconds of him being punched felt like an eternity. All he could see, he could hear, he could feel, was Cromwell punching Jim to a pulp against the wall and Jim too weak to fight back. He remembers hearing the dull thud of the punches against the wall. Jim retaliated but soon his shouts became quieted as he lost consciousness and stopped fighting. He remembers the pounding in his head matching the thuds on the wall. "Thunk, Thunk, Thunk," He remembers hearing Cromwell's cruel and evil laughed, burned into memory as he continued punching him, even when Jim had long stopped trying to fight back. He remembers his cruelty, the lack of mercy, the mirth and sheer enjoyment Cromwell had at the expense of him.

He somehow ran over to them, but he didn't remember moving. At this point, he had stopped thinking. A cry emanated from him, but he could not hear it. It came not from him but his soul which was torn into two. A rage boiled within his blood to the point that he went into a fever, a trance-like state that he could not exit. He could not think, he could not breathe, he could not exist. He was only a machine now, fueled by rage. He remembered feeling so helpless, so slow as he ran towards him, trying to save him, hoping there was still time to save him. Then his head fell onto the concrete floor, a dull thud.

Afterwards, his memory is hazy. He remembers the fire that burned in his blood igniting into pure chaos. No thoughts existed in his mind as a pulsating rage coursed through from his soul. All rational thought, emotion, existence ceased. It was only rage now. All the years of training to repress his emotions, with meditation, and contemplation and control disappeared instantaneously. Every hatred, every rage, every emotion he had ever felt flooded out in an instant from me, his emotions no longer tied close to me. He had never felt to a depth like this before, nor as powerful either. It was intoxicating and terrifying, and he was powerless to stop it. He did not want to stop it any longer. Every beating, every curse, every abuse he had experienced did not compare to this. They could torture him, curse him, punch him, do whatever they pleased. But not to him. Not to Jim. He would not stand for it.

He only held one thought in his mind: he would make them pay. He grabbed the two who had pinned him and nerve pinched them, their bodies convulsing out of shock before immediately falling to the ground, limp, lifeless. He then focused his attention on Cromwell. He tackled him onto the floor, punching his face repeatedly. He was not leaving any mercy. He didn't for Jim, and he would treat him the same. A mantra of a rhythm formed. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. He continued punching him even when his arms felt numb, his hands bleeding green. He did not feel the pain, though. He did not feel anything anymore. Violence for the first time did not feel detestable or even discomforting, it felt good. It felt good to do this to him. He deserved this. He deserved this. He was justified. Cromwell yelled at him, screaming and writhing under him, trying to knock Spock off but he would not move. He used one arm to pin him as he continued punching his face. Cromwell cursed and then pleaded and he merely laughed, because he only understood a fraction of his pain. Cromwell's eyes widened in fear as he realised he would not stop no matter what he did.

Slowly his screaming stopped, he stopped moving under him, the life from him draining. Spock stopped for a moment, observing him. He had never seen so much blood before. Cromwell's face was now disfigured, bloodied and bruised, his eyes swollen shut, his jaw shattered. His skin now covered in a marred mix of red and green to form black streaks across his face. He did not care, though. All he could think was how pathetic he looked, and how weak he was. For a moment he had a feeling of pity. He wanted him awake longer so he would suffer more.

The world felt distant from him. He was not himself anymore. He was detached, the fury still burning within him, a rage that could not be contained. He wanted to hurt everyone in the room. His rage still controlled me, causing him to want to destroy everyone and everything. They had allowed this to happen, and for that, they would suffer. He could hear nothing else, see nothing else. He stared at Cromwell's bloody face, the anger not residing. It only grew as he continued thinking of ways to torture him. He heard the cries in the distance, but they sounded so far away, so distant.

Someone placed their hand on him. He turned, his fist raised, reading to attack. He was still in full fury, ready to fight, to kill, to do anything more to avenge him. He was prepared to destroy the world and anyone who stood in his way. He only met Janice's eyes though, her eyes quickly widening in fear. Why did she look so afraid? Then he realised, it was because of him. She was scared of him.

She slowly backed away, fear filling her eyes as she stared at him. Reality suddenly came back to him. My logic and thoughts instantly returned. As if awakened from a dream he looked at his surroundings again. He saw the fighting had died down, and now everyone was staring at him. He could hear the ring of a fire alarm and the sounds of footsteps as the teachers entered the room. He looked down at his bloodied hands and his face, destroyed. His hands still bleeding green, the pain returning into them. Oh god, what he had done? What had he done?

He looked over to Jim, the whole reason he had done this in the first place. He still lay on the ground, unconscious, his head bleeding profusely. Janice cradled his head, using napkins to try to maintain pressure on the wound. She was crying. All of Spock's attention immediately focused on him again. He walked over to him. Janice was already attempting to carry him, struggling under the weight. He reached out to try to aid her.

"Don't touch him!" She screamed, terrified of him. He truly was a monster, wasn't he?

"Please, let him help," Spock begged, his voice soft, tears streaming down his face. She looked over at Jim and then at him. Finally, she nodded, saying nothing, still terrified. He did not blame her. Without a word, he helped her transport him. It was a long walk to the nurse's office.

**Author's Note:**

Finally finished. This marks a huge turning point in the story and a huge progression in their relationship. While this wasn't exactly a fun scene to write, it was sort of a necessary one for the events that will happen afterwards. It also felt important in a way to write, as the world today becomes more prejudiced and divided, and I wanted to reflect that in the world of Star Trek. In the 1960s show we still see, despite the centuries, prevalent evidence against nonhumans, and Jim Kirk definitely not standing for it. I think it's a key part of the show and why it was radical at the time and still beloved by many. Anyway, thank you for reading and prepare for the angst/fluff next time.


	11. Chapter 11 Reconciliation

**Chapter 11. **

After they took Jim to the nurse's office, Spock was called to the principal's office. He did not resist or question it. It was inevitable, to resist would be futile. For a moment he contemplated rebelling and staying beside Jim. He was still anxious to leave him by himself, unprotected. The nurse and Janice were there, though, and it was illogical to think anything would happen to him. It would only cause the situation to worsen if he stayed. Thus, he left without a word, gently tucking him in before he left.

Principal Edwards was an older stern man. He possessed what one would call a Napoleon complex in which he ruled the school more like a kingdom than a place of academia, with all the students and faculty being his loyal and loving subjects to him, their king. He was an ironically mousy man, standing small in stature, and lacking the intimidation necessary to make up for the deficiency of height. He wore large bespectacled glasses, which only further emphasized his meek roundness with a large balding head and stood in what was supposed to be an intimidating stance. He was always quite red-faced, constantly stuttering and blubbering, his lengthy and droning speeches on the intercom a joke to the student body and faculty. He wore old tweed suits which he considered to give him some sense of authority or style, but only furthered his persona as a fool. Still, he was oblivious to this and his actual reputation, believing himself to be a highly intimidating authoritative figure. He was a paradox, an oxymoronic contradiction of arrogant yet cowardly. He was also notoriously Scrooge-like, putting all pennies in his pockets rather than paying for the teachers or school. In short, he was everything Spock despised in a leader & now he was stuck in his office.

"Fighting with other students, incapacitating three of them, one to the point of hospitalization. You, out of all people, I expected to understand our policy, Mr Spock. I thought you would have read it by now." Spock had, in fact, read it but decided not to point that out.

"We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence, no matter the occasion or reason. There are to be no exceptions!" He quipped. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a turkey. He sat across from Spock, his nose into the air, his face even more flushed than usual, having the expression of smelling something distasteful.

He droned onwards, but Spock stopped listening. His words stopped carrying any meaning, becoming mere sounds rather than significant thoughts, nonsense. He zoned out, his words becoming more muddled, as if listening to him underwater. He gazed around the room, trying to find something interesting to stare at to maintain some semblance of paying attention. He initially looked at his table, staring at his gilded name plaque, no doubt having spent the school budget to gain one. He found it to be boring though and eventually focused on his features instead. He watched his forehead, gleaming from the afternoon sunlight, as beads of sweat dripped down, counting each droplet.

"Well, do you have anything to say, young man?" He finally stopped, staring sternly at Spock. He snapped out of his daze. He did not have anything to say that would be satisfactory to him, so he didn't say anything. He still stared distastefully.

"I have already called your parents. When they arrive, we will further discuss your punishment."

At this, there was a knock on the door & his parents entered. Mother glanced worryingly at him, confusion & concern lining her face. Father's face was stern and unreadable, the typical stoic Vulcan. He did not meet his eyes, the only slight indication of his mood, a slight tick down of his lips. Spock was far too familiar with the expression. His father was furious.

"Ah, Mr & Mrs Surak, please take a seat," They both sat, his mother on the right & his father on the left of him. Mother reached out to touch Spock's hand but he pulled it away. Father still refused to look at him. Spock sat as stoically as possible, straightening his back, the mask returning.

"You are here under unfortunate circumstances due to the poor conduct of your son. As you are well aware, we have a zero-tolerance policy for violence and your son this afternoon has wholly violated this! He & a fellow classmate, Jim Kirk I believe, started a fight in the school cafeteria during the lunch period. This resulted in two hospitalizations, as well as two unconscious students and the entire lunch cafeteria destroyed." He yelled, standing, his fury taking hold of him.

"We are not responsible for starting the fight," Spock replied, eyeing him coldly.

Principal Edwards smirked, his air of confidence returning. "Ah, but the security cameras saw Jim Kirk throw the first punch."

"While that is true, James Kirk would not attack unprovoked. As the security cameras would also have shown they harassed me, dumping their food tray on me. They also harassed me throughout the day, saying xenophobic comments on his heritage, likely due to the recent news report. They then continued harassing Jim & me throughout the lunch period. Jim Kirk did not immediately resort to violence and tried to deescalate the situation, but they continued. Eventually, and while I do not justify or condone his actions, he struck due to their continued conduct." He said calmly, with an underlying bite. Edwards suddenly became red in the face, too angry to speak, imaginary smoke coming out of his ears.

"Young-young-man! You are in no pos-position to to talk like this!"

"I am simply relaying the facts. While I accept full responsibility for my actions, I wish to clarify the intent and the facts of the incident. While I admit that Kirk's actions were crude and emotional, he was acting from the best intentions of defending me. It would have likely ended in the same situation regardless." He looked about to explode. Spock did not care.

"You, you insolent brat! I should have you expelled for your behaviour! You both are suspended for 1 week & will serve detention for 3 weeks afterwards with community service when you return!" Spock said nothing, his blood boiling again, his anger quickly resurfacing.

"And what about the other students, the boys who started it in the first place?" Mother stood. Her voice shook with fury, standing now, shaking. For a moment Principal Edwards cowered, too shocked and afraid despite her small stature.

"Now, Mrs Surak...those boys are still recovering in the hospital. While of course there may have been some factors, they technically did not violate any policy—"

She was furious now. "Not violate any policy! Did you not hear my son? They dumped a food tray on him & have been saying xenophobic comments to him, instigating the fight in the first place! What about your no-bullying policy?"

"And if you have read it, our bullying policy is based on repeated acts or behaviours & since there is no evidence of—"

"No evidence?! I can give you evidence Mr Edwards! My son has been a black sheep and target in this school since day one! I have had him come home, beaten and bruised by your student body! You know as well as the rest of him that he is a target here but you have turned a blind eye to it! Don't get me started on my son's experience in your school."

"Amanda..." Father began.

"Mrs Surak, our policy is very clear. There has simply been no evidence to support the fact of a singular student repeatedly doing it."

"And does that matter?! My son has been repeatedly harassed and bullied the whole duration of his attendance here. If you actually used your damn security cameras I'm certain you could easily catch them! You're blind and an idiot if you don't think nothing is going on here!"

"Amanda!" It was the closest my father ever came to raising his voice. She slowly sat again, still fuming.

"I apologize for my wife. She is...emotional. I find your actions swift and logical in adherence to your rules regarding our son's actions. Let it be known that we will also be initiating swift and harsh actions regarding the mistakes our son has made during his duration at home." Father said calmly, ever the diplomat.

Principal Edwards straightened, gloating. "Yes, yes, of course, of course. I was being very remarkable, wasn't I?" He repeated, confirming it more to himself than anyone else.

Principal Edwards then turned to me. "You may go to your locker & pick any books you need. You are still required to complete your assignments, which will be sent in your padd. All tests will be made up when you return." I nodded, not saying another word.

"Thank you for your time. I hope to meet under more fortunate circumstances," Father said, standing, His tone slightly bitter. For the first time, he turned to look directly at Spock. His features were harsh, his face taut. He was more furious than he had ever seen him before.

"Spock, grab your possessions and then meet us outside. Our car is parked in front of the school." He said, his tone even, not a single betrayal of any emotion of familiarity towards him.

"Yes Sa'mekh." Father turned and left, not acknowledging my existence any more than he had to. My mother followed, still fuming. Spock then left towards his locker, packed his items, & entered the car, not saying a word.

It was an awkward ride home in the car that afternoon. Mother was still furious and let it be known the moment Father started driving. "Policy! More like penny-pinching that coward of a man! I swear if I get my hands on any evidence..." She continued ranting the whole car ride home.

Father was silent the whole time, saying nothing on the matter. He only occasionally looked at Spock in the rearview mirror, refusing to state anything. That only made Spock more worried, silence at this point meant he was so furious he could not control it. It had only happened a few times in his childhood, and it never had been pleasant. His rage emanated in the car, a black noxious gas that made it hard to meet his eyes.

He couldn't care less, though. It did not matter anymore, nothing did. He knew the consequences of his actions, and that undoubtedly his father would be furious. He had known the moment he had acted that there would be consequences such as this. His fury at the moment though overrode his fear of the future. He had not cared about the consequences then and he could not bring himself to care about it now. He thought back on the event, replaying the memory over and over again, trying to remember as many details about it as possible. Every time though his emotion would fill him once again and he would stop, the emotions too overwhelming. He looked out the window in a daze, the events repeating as he tried to understand himself and his loss of control. He found no answers, though. All he could think about was Jim. He hoped he was okay.

When they arrived home, Father immediately ordered him to the kitchen to sit. He did not say anything in retaliation, deciding it best to cooperate. The sooner the ordeal was over the better. It could not last forever, and the anticipation of the storm only caused more anxiety. One's imagination can create more fear than the event itself. He sat at the table, quiet, keeping his head down. He still could not meet his eyes, not out of shame but fear. He was also extremely exhausted, the adrenaline finally wearing off. His arms ached and his hands stung, still bleeding. He was too tired to listen, to care, to argue. He was too fatigued to do anything. All he desired was to sleep a dreamless sleep, a sleep so deep he would never awaken. This all felt like a bad dream.

Father stood at the opposite end of the table, furious. He still did not look at him. He began to speak, his voice dangerously low. "In the course of a few hours, you not only let your emotions control you, but you have also acted recklessly due to them. You have incapacitated several students, harmed one to the point of hospitalization, and disrespected an elder authority figure. You have disgraced not only your race but your family and yourself through your actions, ruining the reputation of the House of Surak on Earth, furthering the xenophobic fears of Terrans, and potentially creating a diplomatic crisis. You are fortunate that no one has decided to take this against the Federation and cause more rife with Vulcan and the Federation. Not only this but you have refused to apologize for your actions and appear to lack any remorse for the harm and tragedy you have caused." His eyes blazed with fury. He had never seen him this angry before.

Spock still said nothing in reply. An apology sounded weak, unfounded. Besides, at this point, it would not cause the situation to better. He also could not lie-he was not remorseful. Out of impulse, he clenched his fists, shrinking into the chair. He suddenly felt the urge to run and hide, to close his eyes and will it all away. This felt like one of his nightmares, too evil to be true. But this was no dream.

"No words can make your behaviour acceptable. Only further actions and reinforcements henceforth will suffice for your inadequacy and lunacy. You clearly have not been meditating enough. You have also been recently distracted, and while your grades have not yet faulted from these distractions, your behaviour of late has reflected this now. It has become apparent that you are not following your teachings anymore." He insulted, slightly grimacing as if tasting something unpleasant. He still did not reply.

"All privileges will be hereby revoked. Your padd usage will be severely limited to only academic usages, which will be monitored by your mother or me. You will not be allowed anywhere outside of school or home since you are clearly distracted by other topics. You will be expected to arrive home at 3:30, and if you fail to do so, the consequences of your actions will only further. You are to meditate daily for 2 hours, and to read and recite the teachings of Surak for me every night until you are proficient in your studies again." He baulked at this but still said nothing, his heart silently wrenching. He could handle this, though.

"Furthermore, I prohibit any contact with your accomplice—James Kirk. You are to cease any further talking, texting, or any other interaction or communication. I have already notified the school board and plan to rotate your schedule to further this."

At this a wave of fury washed over him again, his emotional control still completely lacking. He filled with the uncontrollable rage he felt at the cafeteria again, the one that gave him no fear, no thought, only emotion. For once in his life, he was not afraid of his father nor the consequences, only enraged at the cease of communication with James. It was enough to make him rebel against him, something he thought would have never occurred.

"I find your punishment dissatisfactory. While I understand your punishment, it is illogical to punish Jim Kirk again. Jim Kirk is more than a mere friend and he deserves better than this." Father turned to him, a single eyebrow upturned, shocked. Mother gasped. Slowly the shock turned into fury, his eyebrows furrowing.

"You are in no position to establish such claims. Furthermore, you possess no substantive evidence and are acting illogically. Jim Kirk cannot be your friend." He suddenly felt very insignificant and weak.

"He has clearly only furthered your fragmentation and emotionality, making you weak & uncontrollable. You are Vulcan Spock, and Vulcans do not develop friendships. Especially with humans such as Jim Kirk. A human outsider can never understand us. They do not understand our culture, our history, how our blood runs deep. They can never be your friend because they will never understand you. You may acquire acquaintances, but that is all. These are not your people, Spock. " He spat harshly.

And that was the truth that he was given-no one would accept him. It was the lesson that his father had given him a thousand times by now. No outworlder could accept him because they could not understand the world of Vulcan. They could not understand their emotions, their customs, their culture, their world and how that tied to their being. No outworlder could understand to the level of intimacy and depth that a Vulcan could. But what his father did not realize was that a Vulcan could not understand him either. The Vulcan children saw his human side, just as he. They saw his weakness, his emotionality, how his emotions ran rampant without control. But it was not weakness that kept his emotions running wild, but the power of his human side. It was his human side they could never understand, and which they chose to despise him with instead and call him weak. No Vulcan could understand his emotions, his dreams, his aspirations. If no human could understand him, no Vulcan could, and no outworlder could, then logically no one could. That was the conclusion he had derived years ago.

But that wasn't true, was it? There was Jim. Jim had proved his theory wrong, every belief he had held he had proved it wrong. His very existence proved both his Father & him wrong. Jim Kirk perhaps was the only person in the entire universe to understand him, not a part of me, but all of him, and accept it all the same. He was the only person who had ever tried to understand him, and that effort caused all the difference. His kindness, his warmth, his love were unconditional, and from that, he knew him in a way no other being had. Jim, as usual, was an impossibility. He proved the impossible.

"You do not understand. He is different than you will ever understand. He has treated me more kindly than any human, or Vulcan has ever treated me. He has unconditionally offered me friendship, and I took it from him. From him, he has given me kindness, and acceptance, when others have only given ignorance and disdain. He has treated me far better than anyone else has." He spat.

Father's eyes burned into him, his fury barely bubbling below the surface. His eyes shone ablaze, his hands clenched at his sides. Spock thought he would strike him, or yell, or abandon or threaten or do whatever other punishment. He found he was not afraid, though. For once in his life, he found something worth fighting for. His fear of his father had been conquered by something greater, his friendship for Jim. He was willing to do anything to maintain that, no matter the consequences.

To his surprise, his Father did none of the acts he feared. Instead, he spoke, his voice oddly quiet but full of venom & anger, barely controlled. "You are not to have any more contact with him. As you are not of sound mind, I will not have a further discussion with you. I strongly suggest you meditate and gain clarity on the matter. We will have a discussion when you are more reasonable and can control your deficiencies. You may go to your room now. "

"Yes Sa'mekh." He ran upstairs towards his room, not saying another word.

XXX

Once in his room, he did not meditate as his father had instructed him. For once in his life, he did not feel the need to. There was a clarity in him, a conviction he had never experienced. For once he felt certain about something and determined in his own belief over anyone else's.

Mother visited him soon after, knocking softly on the door. "How are you, Spock?"

"I am adequate."

"You know what I mean."

"If you are asking if I will apologize to Father for my actions, I will not. He is acting illogically."

"I know, he's trying his best to do what's best for you. You realize that, don't you?"

"His interpretation is inaccurate."

"I know, and that's the problem. Sometimes, he's trying his best, but he doesn't know what's best for you. To be honest, neither of us does. You're so different from your father and me. Sometimes it's just hard to reach you, Spock." She smiled sadly, stroking my hair like when I was young. I allowed her, too tired to protest.

"Are you hungry? I made dinner."

"No, I am finding myself not to be hungry. Thank you, though."

"Alright, I guess I'll talk to your father. Do you want me to say anything to him?"

"No, I do not want to establish any communication with him." She nodded, understanding. She then left, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The emotional turmoil began to drain at him again. He suddenly felt both physically and emotionally exhausted, a deep weight wearing on his mind and soul. Who knew one day could hold so many incidents? Having lacked the time to do so, he now fully processed the events of today with clarity. He lay on his bed, mentally sorting through the day, trying to comprehend the events and emotions he had experienced today. It was useless though, his mind was still too agitated, too out of focus for him to control it.

He then looked over at his padd. Jim was calling him. He answered, instantly seeing Jim's face on the screen, smiling widely. James looked, to put it lightly, rough. His face had been marred by them, a large black eye forming on his right eye, still slightly swollen. His lip was cut and bloodied, and when he grinned one could see his missing teeth. His arm was in a sling, and he was covered in bandages over various cuts and bruises on his face and body. He still smiled sunnily at him, though, as if just another ordinary day. Guilt ate away at him. He had allowed this to happen. He had let this happen _to him_. The anger from before quickly resurfaced. He attempted to keep it in control though, trying to appear as impassive as impossible.

"How are you, Spock?"

"I am adequate. I am not the one who should be concerned here." Spock said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible, attempting to not let any emotion break through.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I know I was acting stupid. When they made those comments though, I lost control I guess." He was not the one who lost control.

"It is of no matter. I would not have expected anything else from you. While I do not condone your method, your intent was admirable and appreciated." Jim beamed.

"Yeah, I still feel bad, though. I hope the school wasn't too harsh on you."

"They merely suspended me," Spock admitted.

"Suspended!" Jim exclaimed. He suddenly became furious, wearing the same look he wore right before he punched Cromwell. Spock shook my head; how did he still have the energy to fight? There was no point to be this angry, especially since neither of them could do anything about it. Besides, Jim was in no condition to be making a case to help him. If anything, he would make it worse.

"It is a logical punishment given the policies of our school, James," Spock said gently, still slightly amused at the emotionalism. His passion for life and to do good was a constant fascination, especially when it regarded him.

"That doesn't make it right," He said, still angry. For once he did not have an answer back, too tired to make one.

"How is your health?" Spock asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, I'm fine. I mean my head and face still kinda hurts, but considering the beating I took, I guess that makes sense. I've fared worse, and they gave me some medicine to ease the pain so it's not bad. There was no permanent damage either, at least not that a few surgical stitches & a dental regenerator couldn't fix over a few hours. Pretty much left the hospital after a few hours with a bruised head, an ice pack, some stitches & a huge medical bill. Mom & Dad weren't really happy with the last part."

"And your parents are..."

"Oh, they're fine with it now. I mean, initially, they were pissed at me for getting into a fight & whatnot. Once I explained the situation, though, when we were driving back home they became pissed at Principal Edwards, especially Mom. She got so mad that she made Dad drive back to the school just so that she could chew him out. You should've seen it, Edwards blubbered & stuttered the whole time, apologizing with every word. I kind of feel bad, the poor man looked about to cry when Mom threatened to disenroll me. Mom was definitely a handful, he got a real earful from her for sure. Now they're basically letting me chill the whole week, they say we might even go to the beach since I don't have to be at school. Dad says he's also signing me up for boxing lessons, so I won't get beat up so badly in a fight next time." He said grinning.

He smiled, relieved. "I am glad to hear that."

"How are your parents taking it?"

"They are...displeased, to say the least, but that is not unexpected."

"I can't imagine why. I mean, I know that Vulcans are supposed to be pacifists & all but it wasn't like you started the fight. Besides, I probably would have had my ass beaten even more if it wasn't for you." Guilt ate away at him again, as Jim looked at him, genuinely thankful.

"They are displeased about the fight, but more at the escalation and my actions during the fight. Mostly, regarding my lack of control."

"What do you mean?"

"Jim...do you know what happened afterwards?"

" I mean I kind of remember the incident, but it's mostly fuzzy and honestly it kind of hurts to think about it when I try remembering. I remember you walking over there, but I don't really know what happened next. All I remember is my head hitting the concrete & blacking out, and then waking up in the nurse's room. I asked Janice and she filled me in on it...somewhat. I also called Mike & Ella, but they didn't really want to talk about the incident, no one really did. Basically, the gist I got is that after I became knocked out you...got into the fight. You took out both of the seniors & Cromwell & then just left. I mean, that's the summary, anyway."

"I..." He paused, unable to find the words.

An uncontrolled rush of memories & emotions flowed through me. Suddenly he was there again. He was standing in that room again, trapped inside his own body. This time he couldn't move, couldn't even blink. He felt like screaming but no words came out, unable to move his lips. He just stood there, watching. Watching as always. Always watching never acting, too much of a coward to ever act. He watched as Jim's face became bloodied and bruised, his head striking the concrete floor. He watched as he realised he was the one who caused this. He was the one who made him do this. He was the reason he was wounded. It was all because of him. It was always because of him. Jim was always harmed because of him. He was the one always hurt by his actions. And he, he could not protect him from this. He could never do anything about it. He was useless and a danger. It would be better if he was not in his life anymore. Father was right, he could never have anyone. His soul burned through with rage and guilt, setting him ablaze.

"I..lost control when you—" His throat hardened, choking, unable to let the words escape him. Because if he said the words aloud, it would make it true, and reality became all the more unbearable. "—became unconscious. I lost control. I stopped thinking... I became violent, unruly, dangerous. I was...a monster."

"You were doing what you had to—they deserved it anyway, and I would have been in worse shape if you didn't intervene."

"No! You don't understand! When I saw you...saw you on the ground I lost all control. I beat them until they were bloodied. They begged for my mercy, but I refused to give it to them. All I could think about was hurting them. I was a complete abomination and disgrace, Vulcan or otherwise. I was a failure. _I am_ a failure." Suddenly tears began flowing down his cheeks. Why was he crying? He couldn't stop.

"Spock!" Jim's eyes widened.

He wiped them away, turning away from the padd. He couldn't hold back the tears, though. They continued to flow, unrelenting. The more he tried controlling it the stronger his emotions forced through, and he found the tears only coming down faster and faster. He had forgotten I could cry.

"Shit, Spock, hang on, I'll call you back," Jim said, hanging up the padd.

He didn't have to wait for long though, because after a few minutes a snowball banged on his window. He looked & saw to his horror & surprise Jim Kirk standing in his backyard, calling out to him.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed.

"Well, trying not to freeze for one," Jim said, smiling. He did not find the humour in the situation.

"Are you going to let him in or not?" Jim asked.

He shook his head. "You should not be here. It is too late in the night, and if my father were to find out—"

"Which he won't, trust me. This isn't my first time sneaking into places." That did not make him feel any better. He ran downstairs and out the door to meet him.

"You need to go," He whisper-yelled. He looked over my shoulder. His parent's bedroom light was still off and he could not hear anything, meaning they likely were not yet awake, for now. He pulled him to the far corner of the house, making sure we were out of their line of sight.

"No, I'm not going to Spock! Not until I know you're okay."

He stared at him, incredulous. Jim looked even worse in person. This could not have been healthy for him to be out at this temperature and run all the way here, injured. "You need to go! I am adequate. I am not the one who with a bruised head nor a broken collarbone."

"Oh cut the bullshit, Spock, You may be able to lie to everyone else but I know you. You're definitely not okay." His eyes widened at this.

"Jim, you are acting illogically. You need to go now!" He shoved him to the ground.

"No! I'm not going! What the hell is wrong, Spock?! You were literally just crying a couple of minutes ago!" He found he could not answer.

He turned away, the tears threatening to return. He could not do this, but he had to. Furthering this relationship would only hurt him. It was logical-he was a danger to him, and him out of the equation was the only solution. This had to end.

He still turned away, unable to face him. "Jim...I think it is best if we terminate our relationship."

"What the hell has gotten into you? Why do you want to end it now?!" Panic rose in Jim's voice, the anxiety rising within him. He was still too much of a coward to face him.

"It is unwise and illogical for this relationship to continue. After the events of today, it has become apparent that our relationship is not beneficial to either of us. It is harmful, not only to me but especially to you." He turned around at this; his voice hollow, empty. He drained all the emotion from it, leaving himself empty again. He regurgitated the facts, forcing them as truth. It was the only way he would be able to say this.

Jim's eyebrows furrowed. "That's your father speaking, not you."

"While I admit my father is against our relationship, it is not because of him that I desire to terminate our relationship. It is illogical—"

"Forget logic. I know you're just using it as an excuse. What do you really want? Do you really want to end our friendship?"

"I think...it is best for us to end this." His voice sounded distant from him again, as if it was not his own. In a way, it wasn't.

"Why?" Jim stared at him, his eyes boring into his soul.

He was furious at him, and understandably so. Couldn't he see it was for the better, though? Couldn't he see this was all for him? Couldn't he see that he did not want to do this, but he needed to? Couldn't he understand that everything he did was for him? Why did he have to make this so much harder? Didn't he hear his heart breaking as well?

"I...am a danger to you. You make me feel emotions to a capacity I never thought possible. The simple truth is, you mean too much to me, Jim Kirk. Far too much that it is a danger to both of us. I thought I could control my behaviour. I could control this—but the events at the cafeteria proved otherwise. When I saw you—" He choked again on the words, too afraid, too afraid of the truth.

"When you were on the ground, something broke within me. Vulcans are a dangerous race when ruled by emotion. Before our modern teachings & philosophies of Surak, we were at constant war, threatening to destroy one another. It was only until the teachings of logic that we were able to save ourselves from such a fate. Our emotions run deeper than any human can fathom, to the point if left unchecked they can control us. To be your friend...has become impossible for me. I am a danger to you. I cannot hurt you or anyone else. I cannot risk this anymore. I cannot become that monster again." The tears were flowing, and he was powerless to stop them.

"Spock...what are you talking about? You're not a monster...you never have been & never will be."

"You did not see me today. You did not see when I lost control, when I beat them mercilessly to the ground. I went beyond your protection. I entered a rage to the point of not only vengeance but destruction. I wanted to harm them, to make them suffer."

He laughed bitterly at that, no found no humour in it. "You should have seen the look in Janice's eyes. She saw the truth. I was and am a monster."

"No. Stop that."

"It is illogical to deny the truth."

"Well, that's bullshit. I may not have been there but I know you, Spock. You're the most peaceful, pacifist person I know. You're a freaking vegetarian for crying out loud because you hate harming animals. You have treated almost everyone with respect, even when they don't deserve it. I know you're a good person, and definitely not a monster. You could never be a monster to me, Spock. Despite this whole Vulcan biology, I know it's not true because I know you. Everyone gets mad, everyone loses control, it's natural. Given the circumstances, it was justified. Everyone does stuff they may regret. Hell, I got into a fight in the first place that I probably shouldn't have. The point is though, is that you're not a monster, you're human. And that isn't necessarily always a bad thing."

"A true Vulcan wouldn't—"

"Yes, they would. I guarantee they would, and if they wouldn't they're stupid to not to. You had the right intention. If anything it's my fault you got into the stupid fight in the first place."

"Jim...please..." He was begging him now, the tears only falling harder.

"Why? Why are you so cruel to yourself? I don't understand why you are. I just wish you could see me as I do. I don't understand why you can't. You're an amazing person Spock, and you deserve to treat yourself better. Granted, it was a bad situation for everyone involved, but you shouldn't be beating yourself up like this. We all make mistakes, but we shouldn't define ourselves by them."

At this point, Spock could not respond. He could not stop crying anymore. He was sobbing now, the tears uncontrollable, his emotions uncontrollable. He no longer had the energy or the will to argue against him. He no longer had the strength to hold it back, the pain, the fear, the anxiety that had built within him. He was too tired, too scared, & alone to realize how weak he'd become. It was too late to stop. He was too broken to be worth this much. He was too much of a monster to be cared for by anyone this much.

He collapsed onto the ground, the cold grass crunching under him. He lost all control, decompensating. How pathetic he was. He couldn't even manage his pathetic sadness in front of Jim. He could not stop the pain, though. He could never stop the pain. He could never be strong enough. He was a disgrace for a Vulcan and a pathetic excuse of a human. He was nothing. "I am a Vulcan...I am a Vulcan...I am in control...I am in control..." he repeated the mantra over and over in his mind, the one he had been told since he had learned to speak. It did not work, though, he could not convince himself. The tears could not stop. Every time he tried to stop the pain it only intensified, grappling him, paralyzing him to the ground.

He thought back to all the times he had been this weak before. Pain and he had always been constant companions, at times it seemed an inevitable part of his existence. Perhaps it was at this point; the universe seemed to point so. He remembered meeting him when he was a child, beaten black and blue, left to die in the deserts. He remembered him when he first arrived here & was taunted to return to his planet, as they spat on his face and degraded his existence to be less worthy than theirs. He remembered him when his sehlat died due to his fault, giving its life to protect him because he had been too weak. He had always been too weak. Every time he had recited the mantra and crushed the pain away. Every time it had worked, all those moments before it had worked. Every time he had been strong enough to force himself to make it work. So why couldn't it now? What was different? Out of all times to break, why did it have to happen now? Why was he always so weak in front of him? Why could he never be strong? Why did he make him suffer this way, and why did he not despise himself more for it? Why could he never stop himself?

Jim said nothing, bending to the ground and wrapping his arms around him. Jim continued saying nothing, sitting there and merely hugging him. Words were not necessary, his actions spoke magnitudes. Instantly a wave of warmth washed over him, as if being kissed by the sun. Spock pulled away but he pulled him tighter, reassuring him it was okay, that this was okay. His mental barriers scarcely existed; he could not block him now. All his emotions poured into him, as each of them felt everything about the other, bearing their souls to the other.

"You're not pathetic, Spock," Jim answered silently, flowing his thought into his mind. He tried to argue, but he continued repeating it incessantly.

Instantly a flow of memories played between them. It was not from Spock's perspective, though, but Jim's. They were in the classroom on the first day. Spock watched as Jim stared at him, curious, a look of longing in his eyes, but nostalgia, returning home. They were walking in the hallways together. Jim was chattering away at something he could no longer remember, Spock smiled softly at him, commenting softly and Spock could feel Jim beaming. They were at the cafe together, and Spock listened to him and blushed, looking away. Jim felt surprised at this but strangely happy because he had seen Spock blush for the first time. Each small moment played over and over, faster and faster in a multitude of shades, surrounding them.

"Don't you see? Don't you see what he see?" He asked him, and for once he could. His soul yearned for his, and he held onto it, holding onto him tighter than anyone had before. He fell into Jim, and he caught him, the stability he needed.

They sat on the lawn, suddenly back in reality. They still did not say anything. Spock pulled away, shocked. Jim stared back at him, an odd look crossing his face. He did not look displeased, just puzzled. Neither of them said anything. Spock fell back into him, crying now, but by choice. He let himself for the first time truly feel his sadness, to acknowledge and feel his pain, the sheer force of it hitting him. He collapsed onto him, gripping his shirt and crying because he needed proof Jim was real. He needed proof this was all real. Jim said nothing, understanding everything. They sat out in the cold until the sun rose, painting the sky in light.

**Author's Note **

All right, more angst/fluff? Idk honestly what to call this at this point. I guess the feels would be the most adequate description of it. Fun fact, Principal Edwards is actually based on one of my real-life teachers, though obviously a huge caricature of him. I also had fun writing more Amanda scenes, just because I think she's a great character that we don't see enough in any of the Star Trek Movies/series.


	12. Chapter 12 Birthday

**Chapter 12.**

"_Dear J,_

_Last time you wrote you said to give it time to heal. While your assessment was not exactly accurate, I have come to understand the sentiment. Time has not healed the wounds, but it has made it more bearable. Perspective has become a teacher that has been comforting at times such as these. The world continues changing around us, whether we are prepared to accept it or not. _

_The news of what happened spread like wildfire throughout the school, which was only reignited when Jim and I returned. It is paradoxically both a blessing and a curse. I had long grown accustomed to people staring at me, but they now look at me differently. They no longer conceal their fears, their eyes revealing everything they think about me. There is more emotionality behind them, a wariness, an anticipatory anxiety. Everyone's reactions are unpredictable and volatile, each based on their own perspective of the incident. A few looked at us with pity, but most only fear. Some even look with sheer hatred, only the strongest of fears preventing them from acting out. No one dares to speak of me in my presence, a hushed wall of silence always filling the room, constantly surrounding me. I do not know if I am glad for such negative emotions towards me, only the honesty of its existence. _

_I strangely am untroubled by this revelation. I have come to stop caring of others opinions about me. The perception from them is irrelevant, even if I hadn't acted out they would despise me all the same. I have no regrets for my actions and would have done it again a thousand times over. Their fear and hatred had always existed, it is only magnified and perceptive now. I cannot control their actions or thoughts of me, nor do I intend to. Let them make their own judgements and have history to decide my fate. In the end, I will never be accepted regardless of what I do, so why try when it is fruitless? Caring at this point is illogical. As long as those who matter to me still accept me, then everything else does not matter._

_It has not been all bad either. Jim is still Jim, and our relationship is much the same as it was before. My one regret would be it now must affect him, but he doesn't seem to mind. He is more kind and magnanimous than I, willing to give up his popularity to stand by me. Not everyone surprisingly despises us either. The people from the chess club are still friendly towards us, which is oddly relieving. Janice and Jim did not talk for a while, but they have now returned to a mostly normal relationship. Janice still refuses to talk to me, but that is not considerably different than before. She still slightly fears me, but that is to be expected-her fear is understandable. _

_As for my parent's reactions, they also eventually changed. Time has seemed to heal them in a way too. Life with them has returned to some semblance of normality, at least on the surface. Father refuses to discuss the incident anymore, and I refuse to talk with him about it either, both of us acknowledging to move on from the matter. I am no longer grounded, nor has he executed any steps to constrain my whereabouts or change any other aspects of my life. In return, I have been dutiful in my studies and have not complained about it. He has not mentioned Jim again to me. I think he'd like to forget it ever happened. Overall, I find I am content with my life, though I thank you for your worry._

_I wish you well,_

_-S" _

XXX

"Isn't it your birthday tomorrow?" Jim asked, walking in the hallway.

"If you are referring to the date of his birth in Terran terms, then yes," Spock replied.

Odd, he hadn't told Jim this. Then again, it was common knowledge that could be found easily if one searched the school's databases. He found himself somewhat thrilled by the fact Jim had taken time to research more about him, even though it was illogical and irrelevant to know such information.

Jim pouted. "I didn't even have time to buy you a present!"

"Gift-giving is an unnecessary human custom. Vulcans do not hold such practices."

In truth, he had not even remembered the event was drawing closer. He remembered, of course, but it was a small fact, always held in the peripheral of his mind, never of much significant thought or contemplation. It had never been a celebrated fact before, and with all the chaos that had happened over the last few weeks, it had been completely disregarded. In the grand scheme of life, his birthdate was merely not worth remembering.

He had not celebrated his birthday in years now, and it was hardly acknowledged. When he was younger, on Vulcan, his mother would secretly throw him a small birthday celebration, much to the chagrin of his father. It was the only other celebration, besides Hanukkah, that his father permitted him to celebrate with his mother per her request. Being as there were no other humans on Earth to celebrate the holiday with her, his Father allowed these for the sake of her sanity. She would bake him a small equivalent of a cake, a modified Vulcan recipe that was less sweet in design. Then, she would put candles in it, the number increasing with age, & sing an old Terran song as he blew out his candles. He would then open his gifts, and he would be allowed to play with them, his studies abandoned for the day. Those were the few moments of happiness in his life, one of the few memories of home he could look back at with fondness.

Once they moved to Earth, though, such traditions, along with other frivolous aspects of life, ceased. Father saw no logical need for him to participate in such traditions now that his mother could easily travel to celebrate with others, thus he forbid it. By then, Spock was also considered too old to participate in such superficial and immature activities. He was 13 in Terran terms by the time they had moved to Earth. Vulcans, especially one of his age, were expected to have long stopped any childish or immature habits of expression, and, regardless of his heritage, he was expected as well. Most of his peers acted as adults in nature by now, and to not act accordingly only further showed his regression. Such personal events were unheard of on Vulcan anyway, because the celebration of the individual was always frowned upon. It was to be an accepted fact that he was to not partake, and that was the end of it, no exception was given. If he wanted to be a Vulcan, he would have to give up such aspects of his life, and so he did.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't get anything," Jim said, rolling his eyes.

"It is not worth the effort. The fact of my existence on Earth around another solar rotation of this planet is not of any importance. It is not worth any celebration to exist."

"Yeah, but I think everyone should get a day to celebrate their life. Even you," He teased, jabbing him in the arm.

"To spend money on such frivolity would be illogical."

"Fine, if you insist, I won't buy you anything." He said. Spock nodded in approval. A slight part of him saddened at this though, but he didn't understand why. Isn't this what he wanted?

"So, are we to meet at our appointed time of 3:15 to study at the library then?"

Jim turned to him, a look of guilt etched across his face. "Sorry Spock, I have something already planned, today." He said, staring at Spock apologetically.

"It is of no matter of consequence," He said, though he found it strange.

It had become a habit by now for them to go to the libraries every Wednesday. For Jim to schedule something on that day was strange, to say the least. How could he have forgotten this? Then again, it was possible with the chaos of life, he had forgotten their habits. It was not the most far-fetched idea. Spock did not inquire more; it was not his business to know.

"I promise I'll make it up to you. We'll meet together, tomorrow, okay?" Spock nodded, trying to maintain a light demeanour, to not allow the questions in his mind control him or the concern show on his face.

He did not say anything when he saw Jim leave with Janice after school. He should have expected that to be his business, it logically made the most sense on why he had other plans. He should have expected that; Jim's world did not solely revolve around him, and it was arrogant to think so. Even though Jim was an important part of his life, it did not mean he was necessarily an important part of his, no matter how much he desired to be. It simply was illogical to believe he could be. The facts could not change the unchangeable. Even the incident between them could not change this, only strengthening their friendship. Life continued as it did before, not better or worse, just as it was. It was foolish to think he could be the only one to covet him. He was much too big for him, too big for this world. It was foolish to ever think he could ever be enough to sustain him.

His emotions only seemed to continue growing for him. Regardless of circumstance or his actions, it seemed to grow all the same. He had come to accept that, and now merely worked to control them, to not let his weakness be revealed. It took every ounce of his willpower not to act out on them, to be angry or jealous. He should have been content, and he was content because Jim was happy, but not only content. He could not let go of his emotions because, in the end, Jim had chosen her and not him. He could not be her to him. He could never be enough. He remained only his friend, and he told himself that _could _be enough, or so he desperately wanted to believe.

XXX

When he awoke the next morning a small card laid on his nightstand. "Mother must have placed it there last night," he thought to himself.

He picked it up. It was a small envelope sized card of black cardstock paper. On the front were articulately glued yellow paper stars and other various inaccurate cartoon-like planets, with a grey starship in the centre. He smiled in spite of himself. The card was wholly inaccurate, illogical and sentimental, but he couldn't help but be fond of it. It was wholly what his mother was, and he loved her and the card all the same. It must have taken her all night to make it. She always made them the night before in case he found it earlier; she liked surprising him. She said it was the most fun part of his birthday.

Inside she had written in silver calligraphy a small note for him, signed in both Vulcan & Standard.

"_Happy 17th birthday, Spock, may this year you have lots of luck & love. Remember you are stronger than you think, smarter than you think, & loved more than you can imagine." _

_-Lots of Love, _

_Mom"_

He smiled, she had always signed his birthday cards like this ever since he was a child. For some reason, the repetition was comforting, a constant in his life he could rely on. He had always had a penchant for sentimentalities, and these were one of the few he was still allowed to have.

He quickly put it inside his shoebox, hiding the box under his bed. The box contained all the letters his mother gave to him over the years, having carefully stashed them away from his father. Besides the letters, other small tokens were hidden inside, carefully cherished memories he buried, safe from himself and his father's prying eyes. It was one of the few secrets he did have, and he intended to keep it that way. It wasn't logical and even dangerous to keep such messages, but the thought of throwing them away unnerved him. There was something about holding the paper, the sensation of it in his hands, that no memory could ever completely encapsulate. There was a nostalgia entwined in the paper, a softness he seldom received anymore. There was a fondness, a love he missed.

When he arrived downstairs, though, he was faced with reality again. The facade returned, the moment gone, locked away in his room once more. He forced all the pleasant emotions from this morning away, feeling nothing again.

Mother was the only one downstairs. "How did you sleep, sweetie?" She asked, making no mention of the card. They never mentioned the cards or his birthday anymore. It was too dangerous. If they were to acquiesce, it might form into habit which could lead to the danger of slip-ups, especially when Father was around. They had long learned to form methods to maintain peace at home.

"I slept adequately for 8.5 hours," He replied. She nodded, saying nothing more.

"I packed your lunch for school." She said, handing it to him.

"Thank you, Mother," He said and left for school.

School was ordinary for the most part. Most, as usual, avoided him or not acknowledge him. Some surprisingly did wish him a happy birthday, which was unexpected, to say the least. He had never expected the sentiment, since most had not even acknowledged his existence, much less his birthday. He was merely content with this acknowledgement, finding it strange but not exactly unpleasant.

After school, Jim asked him if he would be amenable to study somewhere else. "I have a surprise for you." He said, a devilish smirk crossing his face.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" Spock asked, suspicious.

"Just follow me."

XXX

The place turned out to be the cafe. "I'm sorry for ditching you yesterday," Jim said, looking genuinely apologetic.

He sighed, there was no point in being annoyed about it, even though he was."As I have told you before, it is of no consequence. You are free to affiliate with whoever you would like." Jim stared at him oddly, looking about to say something but then changing his mind at the last minute.

"Well, I did promise I'd hang out with you today, so let's go in," Jim said. Spock walked in behind him.

The cafe, as usual, was serenely quiet and warm, the crackling synthetic fireplace roaring. The Christmas decorations had still not been taken down yet, as red and green tinsel lined the walls and plastic ornaments hung from a small plastic pine tree in the corner. A soft Terran tune played in the background, accompanied by several quiet voices, all engaged in their own worlds of conversation. It was peaceful, a ready break Spock hadn't realised he needed.

"Here, you can sit. I'll order you a drink. Green tea right?" Spock nodded, selecting a spot in the back corner.

He offered to pay but Jim refused, "It's your birthday Spock, it's the least he can do." He did not argue further.

Veronica, as usual, brought them the drinks. This time though she carried an additional pale mug. Inside it was a small yellow cake covered in white frosting and multi-coloured artificial sprinkles, a white wax candle carefully placed in the centre, alit. She placed in front of Spock. "Here you go, birthday boy," She said nonchalantly. She eyed Jim strangely but said nothing.

He stared down at it, silent. "It's a human tradition on one's birthday," Jim explained, smiling.

"I know you're not overly fond of your birthday or anything but I thought you might like this. You're supposed to blow out the candles and make a wish."

"That is illogical; I do not understand how blowing out a small flame could increase the likelihood of an event happening. Wishes in itself are illogical without implementation, anyway."

"Humour me on this; it's a human custom. They don't always make sense, but they have their own charm."

Spock acceded to his desire, silently contemplating what he would wish for. He had never wished for much in life. Primarily because he had been taught to wish for anything was selfish and unVulcan. As a child, he dreamed of a better life on a faraway planet or star, but he never had any hope of it being actualised. It was only a fantasy that was created to sustain his survival, a hope that he could not deny himself for the sake of his soul. As he became older, such dreams became just cruel optimism, fantasies that could never be accomplished. So he abandoned them because they only bore more pain when he realised the weakness & futility of his situation. Then, he stopped dreaming, stopped wanting, stopped wishing, because it only made it harder to confront his situation and was further proof of his inferiority. He accepted his reality because he did not believe it was possible of it ever changing.

When Jim became a part of his life, though, that changed dramatically. Though these past few months our time together had been short, it was enough to last him an eternity. It felt like an eternity with him. There was no beginning or end in our friendship, only its existence. Jim had opened his eyes and transformed his heart in ways he never thought possible. For the first time in his life, Jim gave him hope, something he had long lost. For the first time in his life, he saw possibilities beyond the fate he was commanded to follow. For the first time, he loved someone more than he hated himself, and he strived to become a better person because of him. For the first time, he finally understood what a dream truly meant, and how to covet hope and bravery in one's soul. For the longest time, he had been in the deadest of sleeps, existing but not truly living. Jim Kirk had given him life, and for that, he could never thank him enough. All he desired was for that to continue.

So that was what he wished for. He wished for their friendship to never end, whether it be in this lifetime or the next or a thousand others. He wished to find him again and again and to fall for him every time because despite the pain and hardship, he never for a moment regretted meeting him. He would never take it back, he would never go back to before. He extinguished the candle.

After, Jim pulled from his backpack a modest red package. "I know you said you didn't want presents, but, well, you know how good I am at listening to directions. Happy birthday, Spock."

"Jim, I cannot accept—"

"Just take it. I've already wrapped it and everything. It's too late now."

He cautiously accepted the package, examining it. It was a small box, light in weight. He gently shook it, hearing the slight jiggling of the object inside. It was wrapped messily in bright red wrapping paper, but with intent and care. On it he had tied a large silver bow, haphazardly stuck to the left of the centre. He carefully tore away the wrapping, folding it beside him. Inside was a pair of old headphones.

"I do not understand. Why would I need headphones?" Jim brought out his padd.

"Plug them in." He obliged, putting on the headphones and plugging it into his padd. Jim then pushed the play button.

To his surprise, he heard, while on a guitar, Vulcan chords, the melody and undercurrent harmonies unmistakable. He was instantly transported back to Vulcan, reliving long disregarded memories of a childhood he had forgotten existed. He was suddenly standing on his desert world again. The scarlet sands blew around him, the serenity returning as he stared out into the horizon, his sehlat beside me, his curiosity and hope still abounded. That was not the most surprising part of the song though, instead, it came 30 seconds later when Jim began singing, in Vulcan.

While the voice was undeniably Jim's, it was different from his usual voice. It was unlike any sound he had ever heard. His voice was deep and crooning, yet smooth and soft. From the sounds it was if he was whispering in his ear secrets that only he and he shared, safe from the world. His voice enveloped him in sombre shades of deep purple and blues, encompassing me, pulling him closer and warming him from within. There was a hint of sadness in his tone, a trace of nostalgia, of a world and meaning he did not understand. He became encapsulated with his voice, as he listened to the lyrics, entrapped in the siren's song. While the lyrics were not of typical Vulcan songs, he found them oddly familiar, the sentiment similar to many older Vulcan songs most had long forgotten. It reminded of him when he visited the temple when he was young, finding the ancient books of the days before Surak and reading the Vulcan poems. He followed the lyrics.

"_It's getting late tonight, and I_

_Cannot find my way home, _

_Feels like I'm wandering in the darkest night _

_But you were my candlelight. _

_I'm lost at sea, but you were anchor, holding me. _

_We could be galaxies away from here._

_But all I need is to have you near. _

_Because you're home to me. _

_What would the world be like? _

_If not for your smile, to be my light. _

_I'll follow you forever. _

_As we find our way home. _

_I'm lost at sea, but so were you, while guiding me. _

_The world and crash burn around but we'll make do. _

_I want to make a better world anew. _

_For you. _

_With everything falling around me. _

_I'd like to believe in every possibility. Impossibility, and everything in between. _

_And I want you there with me. _

_I'm lost but I would move the stars through_

_If it meant one more night with you. _

_You have always been my light, _

_Burning so bright. _

_I just wished you could see. _

_It's getting late tonight_

_But I have found my way home tonight. _

_I look into your eyes and see home tonight. _

_Take me back to the shore, _

_We'll be alright._

_Happy birthday, S'chn T'gai Spock. I told you I would learn."_

The music stopped too soon, leaving Spock wanting more. He reluctantly took off the headphones, disappointed that it ended. Jim stared at him, and he suddenly became self-aware Jim had been looking at him the entire time. He was too preoccupied with the song to notice. He froze, heat rushing up his neck, unable to speak or move. He found himself, for once, at a loss of words, his mind blank after the serenading.

"I figured you could keep the headphones since I'm pretty sure your parents wouldn't be thrilled if they found my birthday present," Jim said, smiling easily.

Jim's face suddenly broke into worry. "Shit Spock, I'm really sorry, I mean I know you're not really sentimental & my pronunciation probably sucked. Oh god, I didn't accidentally insult you, did I—" He babbled, his words becoming faster and more nonsensical as the panic grew within him.

"Jim," He said, grabbing his hands. Jim stopped for a moment his babbling, staring at Spock in shock. He quickly withdrew his hands, wiping away his tears.

"I am not upset, just overwhelmed. No one has ever given me such a personal gift." At this Jim softened again, smiling gently, his worry dissipating, his eyes melting. He could fall forever into those eyes.

"I'm glad you liked it."

Spock straightened, the proper Vulcan rigidity returning. "The poem was also well arranged, you are clearly well versed in Vulcan poetry structure and literature, as well as your harmonic chords, showing precise usage of Vulcan song. The usage of metaphors was also articulate. As for your pronunciation, it was accurate...for a human."

Jim beamed at this, smiling coyly. "Why Mr Spock...was that a compliment?"

His face flushed green & he turned away in pretentiousness, too embarrassed to admit to such a compliment. Even if he was not entirely himself, he would never admit to complimenting him, not only because it was low for a Vulcan to admit such things, but also because he would never hear the end of it from him. If he gave him an inch, he would run a mile with it. He did not need to further boost his ego any more than it already was. He was already too smart for his own good, and he would utilize it to his advantage if he outright confessed it.

"No, I was simply analyzing the piece you performed. Your pronunciation still requires some corrections...but in time you could sound nearly native. Where did you learn how to speak so fluently in such a short time?"

"Well, I wrote the poem last night and the chords a few nights ago because I was messing with my guitar, trying to learn some Vulcan melodies anyway. But as for the Vulcan part, I mostly learned from the local library databanks at the Federation. You would be amazed at the amount of data stored there. I've been planning on surprising you with this for a while, but learning to speak Vulcan took a lot longer than I expected."

"Indeed, it is a difficult language for most, especially those not of native tongue who grow up on Standard. How long have you been learning Vulcan?"

Jim suddenly blushed, his face becoming tinged with pink. "Well, I mean I already knew how to read and write Vulcan, having grown up on a starship and all. I also could understand it okay, especially if it isn't spoken too quickly. But I started learning to speak it...um...actually since you came to my house. After you said I could not pronounce your name, I guess I wanted to prove you wrong and I did...since I learned to say it even though I probably slaughtered everything else." He stammered, his face turning a deeper and deeper shade of red. Spock allowed himself to show a faint smile, finding enjoyment at Jim being the one embarrassed for once.

"It is impressive you have grasped such a rudimentary knowledge of Vulcan in such a brief period."

"Well, it wasn't that bad considering the easy access to the material, plus it helps when you have good motivation." He winked at him. He blushed again, his face burning. This boy would be the death of him.

"Shall we begin studying again?" Spock asked, deliberately shifting the subject. Jim blinked in surprise but smiled again.

"Sure, ready whenever you are."

**Author's Note **

Some more fluff to distract myself from all the angst I have written over the last few chapters. Just pure fluff. As for the song, sorry for the bad poem/description. I have a really hard time for some reason this time around describing the song. I guess the best cross in real life would be the sound of this song from the untamed (also highly recommend watching this if you haven't) in terms of the sound & the lyrics from C'mon by Panic & Fun. (a weird combination I know but this were the highest inspirations for this song since I have no clue what Vulcan music would actually sound like)

watch?v=rLB-mL5I0E4

watch?v=klHpznbGeYc


	13. Chapter 13 Hot Chocolate

**Chapter 13.**

Spock sat up and stared at the clock. It was nearly eleven but he still couldn't fall asleep. His mind felt uneven for some reason, unrested. A tight knot of nervous anxiety had formed within him, making him feel uneasy, distressed. Something was wrong. He checked his padd, instantly receiving a text from Jim.

"Spock, come over to my house. I need you."

His eyes widened, what happened? Why did he want him to come over? What could have gone wrong this late at night? Instantly a thousand possible unpleasant scenarios flooded his mind. It was our winter break so he had not seen Jim in a few days. Knowing him, though, he likely could have injured himself in a multitude of ways, either on accident or ignorant purpose. Spock pushed them all aside, worrying about it now would accomplish nothing. He could not do anything until he could adequately assess the situation himself and then brace for whatever lay in store. Until then, he only needed to brace for the worst.

He frantically grabbed his first aid kit, his padd, and any other supplies he could think he might need, stuffing it all inside his backpack. He then checked if the lights were out from below and if his parents were still awake. Fortunately, they had fallen asleep hours before, the house was dark and quiet. He then opened his window & snuck out into the night.

Unlike before the house was eerily quiet, with not a single light shining through. He could not hear a single breathing soul; everyone must have been sleeping, well, except for Jim. Deciding it was best not to wake the Kirks and explain it to them, he carefully scaled the back wall and enter Jim's room. He carefully climbed the wooden poles, cautious not to make a sound. He then softly tapped on Jim's window. Jim stared at him, wide-eyed for a second as if seeing a ghost. Then, upon recognising him, he smiled softly, opening the window.

If he had thought Jim's room was messy before it was nothing compared to the chaos that enclosed his room now. The floor was completely buried under two layers of week-old clothing, magazines, food plates, trash, and various stains and spills of contents of which he did not nor want to know the origin. Boxes of stale pizza and empty tubs of ice cream littered the ground, arbitrarily stacked upon one another, threatening to fall. Grease from forgotten pizza dripped from the edges of cardboard boxes. The room reeked of old food stains and sweat and dirt and grime, making him slightly recoil. Tens of hundreds of dirty dishes and cups were stacked across his table and bed and floor, their contents discharged, leaning precariously in various helter-skelter manners, still stained from their contents. Half-finished homework assignments laid astray, undone and unfinished. A dated TV stand stood in the corner, with some old Terran Romantic comedy playing, the volume muted. From the hundreds of DVDs lined beside the stand, it seemed he had been watching plenty of movies.

Jim had returned to sit on his bed. He huddled in the corner under a mass of blankets & pillows, looking more to be an arbitrary pile of blankets than a human being. A mass of sweat, & old clothes & rotting food reeked from under the pile. He let out a faint moan, his head barely peeking from the covers.

"Hey, Spock..." He said weakly, the joy sucked out of his voice.

"Jim, what is wrong?" Spock asked, panic instantly rising in his voice. What had happened to him to leave him in such a state?

"Janice broke up with me..." He moaned, sticking out his head, his face bleary-eyed. If he hadn't looked so pathetic, Spock would have slapped him & left him for texting so urgently about such an unimportant matter.

"Are you serious? I thought something serious had happened." He hissed, cursing himself. Of course, nothing serious had happened. Of course, Jim Kirk of all people would text him about something as insignificant as this and make it seem significant. Of course, he would go without any questions, because he was too much of a fool for him.

"It is serious! I'm suffering from serious sadness right now," He whined, staring at me wide-eyed. He did look pathetically depressed, reminding me of a kicked sehlat. I rolled my eyes, sitting on the edge of his bed.

He then smelled him and recoiled back in disgust, the stench even fouler close to him. "When was the last time you bathed?"

"I don't know...a few days, I guess. I haven't gotten around to it, I kind of forgot."

"You are going to take a shower now," Spock reprimanded, hauling him out from under his pile of blankets.

"Why?!" He whined, placing all his weight against him. He took a deep breath, struggling to haul him out of the bed.

"Because the current state of you is not only unhygienic but frankly, repulsive," He said, throwing him into his bathroom. He rummaged around in his drawers, managing to find one clean outfit of pyjamas and flung it in with him.

"Take a shower now."

"Okay, okay, Mom." Jim said, smiling vaguely, a shadow of what it had been before.

Spock slammed the door on him, sitting awkwardly in his room while he waited for him to shower. After ten minutes or so Jim walked out, drying his hair. "Better?" He asked. Spock nodded, at least he did not smell now. Jim continued drying his hair, still wet from the shower.

"Are you certain you are physically well?"

Even with the shower he still did not look much physically better. He had never seen Jim in such a fragile physical state. Large deep bags underlined his eyes, & his eyes were bloodshot red and puffy, presumably from crying and not sleeping much. He was paler too, the vigour from his skin gone. He also seemed thinner, despite all the various contents of junk food strewn on the ground. A slight stubble had started growing, his face dishevelled. It was more than just his physical appearance, though. His entire demeanour had changed, he had never appeared that sombre before. Even when he had been upset or angry or sad before it had been different because there had been at least a life, a force behind it. Now, he felt like nothing. It was as if all the energy and willpower had been sapped out of him. The fire within him had dimmed, leaving only smoulders of ashes in its glow from him had dissipated, leaving a shell of a person behind. There was no joy behind his eyes, no life, no love, only emptiness. A deep gloom pervaded him, a bleak grey that felt almost suffocating to be around. How could this have happened?

"Wow, thanks for the confidence boost." Jim grabbed a drink on his nightstand, sipping it.

Spock snatched it away. "Hey, what are you doing?" Spock sniffed the contents suspiciously. Inside was a warm, mysterious dark brown liquid.

"It's not what you think, it's just something I make when I'm feeling sad. It used to help me a lot when I was little, though I guess not so much now. You can take a sip if you want."

He sniffed the contents again suspiciously, instantly a sweet almost intoxicating aroma filled his senses. He slowly took a sip, drinking the warm dark liquid. His senses were instantly filled with the warm fragrant aroma, a creaminess and deep richness he did expect ran straight to his core. Whatever the beverage was, it was delicious. He took another sip.

"How can I help you?"

"Well, it's not exactly the sort of thing you can fix, Spock. Just give it time to heal I guess, company helps too." He said, smiling sadly.

"How long has it been since the termination of your relationship?"

"She dumped me five days ago."

"That is a significant amount of time, James."

"This is different, Spock. These things just take time, a lot of time. Probably a lot more than Vulcans need if they ever got in a situation like this. I bet Vulcans don't have to deal with being sad or upset over things like this. You guys have it lucky. Emotions suck. Being human sucks. We're terrible about controlling our emotions and dealing with them. As much as I'd like to, I can't just switch it on and off right now." He complained.

"You would be surprised at the emotionality of Vulcans. We are merely better at controlling it."

"Yeah, I would even take that at the moment. I hate being like this and feeling this terrible. It's okay, though. It'll pass, eventually. Hopefully sooner rather than later." Spock took another sip.

"I am sorry I cannot be of aide to you." He looked at the mug; it was empty now.

"You liked it, huh?" He nodded, too tired to argue. He felt strange, his senses suddenly becoming more sensitive yet duller at the same time. An unusual energy had built within him as well, the warmth now having spread all over his chest and torso.

"Here, I'll go make some more for the both of us." He said. He went downstairs and returned with two more mugs, this time topped with white foam.

"It's called whipped cream." He said, handing it to him. He gratefully accepted the drink & took another long sip. Instantly the odd concoction overpowered his senses again, the strange sensation becoming stronger and spreading throughout my body.

"If it is the loss of the relationship that is causing you harm, then wouldn't it be logical to..."

"What? Get back with Janice? No, it wouldn't solve it at this point. It's too late now, and even if it wasn't, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't solve what I'm feeling. It wouldn't work with us even if we did try again, and I don't really want to. And I know she definitely wouldn't want to. She thinks we're better off as friends, if even that. Things just can't go back to before anymore."

"What exactly were the reasons for..." My mind felt fuzzy, the words slipping from my mind. It was becoming harder now to speak in Standard, my vocabulary becoming limited. "... the ending of your relationship?" He managed to sputter.

"Well, I wasn't a very good boyfriend for starters..."

"What constitutes being a good boyfriend?"

"I don't know, showing up for dates on time would have helped, though." He looked so miserable, Spock had the sudden urge to cry because he looked so depressed.

"I can see why that would be helpful."

"And there was other stuff too. I treated her badly, and I regret that part. She deserved better than me, especially at the end. It just wasn't going to work out between us, no matter how much we wanted it too. She just saw it first and decided to call it off before we got any further. I mean, if she hadn't broken up with me I would've probably ended it sooner or later anyway. It just couldn't work."

"Why?"

"I don't know...we had different opinions on certain things and I wasn't willing to compromise on them. And well, she couldn't handle that anymore. So, she dumped me because it wasn't worth the fight anymore."

"I see..." Spock said, his vision suddenly blurring. His cheeks burned with heat, his entire body felt on fire. He suddenly felt nauseous as the world spun around him. Suddenly the world blacked around him as he felt himself falling.

"Alright mister no more drinking for you," Jim said, catching him, gently setting him on the bed. When Spock didn't respond, he began to panic.

"Spock all you all right?! Spock! Shit, did I poison you, oh my God, do we need to call the hospital?"

"I...don't think so, but I don't think it would be wise for me to drink anymore of whatever that was," He said, the spinning slowly dying down, the heat becoming more tolerable.

"Are you sure Spock?" He nodded, still not wanting to move, the disorientation still nauseating.

"What was the substance anyway?"

"It was hot chocolate." His eyes widened.

"Shit, Spock are you going to be okay?"

"Yes...but a warning might have been better beforehand. It has to do with Vulcan physi- physiol-"

"Physiology?" Jim asked. He nodded in gratitude.

"Chocolate, specifically the cacao beans found in chocolate, has intoxicating effects on Vulcans."

Jim's eyes widened. "Are you telling me you're drunk?"

"In human terms, yes," He said. He winced, a pounding headache forming.

Jim smiled and laughed. "Wow, I thought all of you Vulcans were so perfect, who knew they had such an easy weakness?" Spock sat up and glared at him, annoyed.

"Why did you not tell me?" Jim asked.

"Firstly, I did not know if it would affect me since my health is...unique," He said, deciding that focusing on short words would be the most convenient way to speak, his vocabulary still limited. "I also did not know for certain, having only read of the possible effects in books, but I never saw it in person."

"Well, at least you know it's true now."

"Indeed."

He then looked at me curiously. "How does it feel?"

"Awful." He shut his eyes; the pounding headache was only worsening.

"Really? Maybe I should try it too, for science," Jim said, standing.

"I don't think it would be wise for both of us to be inebriated."

"Come on, it'll be fine. We don't have school tomorrow anyway & you're already drunk as a skunk."

"Due to your ignorant poisoning, I might add."

Jim rolled his eyes at him. He then returned from downstairs with a large glass bottle full of mysterious transparent brown liquid and a small glass. He popped off the black lid, instantly filling the room with an overpowering smell of alcohol. He poured himself a glass.

"My dad always says people show their true sides when they're drunk since the filter is gone. Maybe we'll learn a thing or two about each other. It beats being sober and sad, at least this is more fun." And with that, he downed his first shot.

It did not take long for Jim Kirk to become drunk, barely finishing his second shot before he became completely inebriated. He sat on his chair, having lost his coordination enough to stand, falling back into it. He stared at him dizzily, still slightly disoriented. He then began laughing uncontrollably, clearly enjoying the sensation much more than Spock ever did. Perhaps being drunk felt different for humans. Spock rolled his eyes; he would have stopped if not for the fact that he was inadvertently inebriated as well.

"I think it would be wise for you to stop drinking."

"You think?" Jim asked, swaying in his chair. He looked ridiculous. Spock could not help but laugh at the strange ludicrous situation, chuckling before he could stop himself. He then continued laughing, finding he did not care anymore. That only made Jim happier, as he began laughing alongside him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Spock. Being drunk feels great. It's like you're floating on a cloud, without a care in the world. It feels so free!" He exclaimed, spinning in his chair.

He stopped, looking about to puke, swaying unevenly. "Maybe I shouldn't do that." He suddenly stilled, the sadness returning, the dark cloud weighing on his mind.

Spock frowned. "You are still sad,"

"Well yeah, even if I'm drunk, which is still one of the greatest experiences I've ever had, it doesn't change how I feel, really..."

His brows furrowed in anger and confusion. "You should not be."

"Gee, thanks Spock for the great advice."

"I do not understand. You are acting illogically."

"Humans aren't logical, especially about touchy-feely stuff. Despite how much we'd like to be at times." Jim somehow talked even more when he was drunk, despite the seeming impossibility.

"I am confused more than usual about your sadness in this instance...you said the termination of your relationship was mostly mutual?"

"More or less, yeah?"

"And you are also remaining friends?"

"I mean, after a while, probably,"

"Then why are you saddened by such a loss?"

"Well, I guess I miss what we had. We had it pretty great. When it was good, it was really good. The problem was when it was bad; it was really bad. She was also my first real girlfriend, so I've never really dealt with stuff like this before. George says it gets better as you get older and I'll laugh about it later, but it doesn't feel like that right now."

"Yet you do not want to reconcile and get back together with her?"

"No, it's not like that exactly. I mean, I miss what we had, but I don't think we could ever have that again, even if we wanted to. Even if we could, I'm not sure I would want it. For some reason, it never felt right with her. It's nothing she did, it just didn't work out. Do you think it's possible for something to feel good but also wrong at the same time?"

He thought about it for a moment. "...Yes," He decided, after a while.

"I thought at the time I loved her. Because that's what boyfriends are supposed to do, they're supposed to love their girlfriends. But I don't think I ever loved her and she realised that... It wasn't enough for me, and I know that's a really shitty thing to say but...it just couldn't be enough. Something was missing between us."

"So you do not regret breaking up with her?"

"No? I guess not, not really. I still feel guilty for some reason, though. I think I feel bad more about how it ended. In the end, it was pretty ugly between us. I didn't want to make the decision, so I forced her to. I didn't want to see it couldn't work and tried to fight for it even though we both knew it was pointless. It was a pretty big fight too. I never meant to hurt her in any way. She didn't deserve that or me in general."

"She hurt you as well, though."

"Yeah well, that doesn't excuse my behaviour. I wasn't exactly the best towards her, especially during the fight."

"...I am sorry about the circumstances for the termination of your relationship. I also mourn the loss of your relationship. She was very...compatible with you." He finally admitted.

Jim suddenly straightened in his chair, turning to look at him. "Really? I thought you hated her."

"Hate is a human emotion, but no, I did not hate her," He admitted.

"But then why—"

"I was emotionally compromised at the time. I did not like perceiving you in a relationship with her. I thought you deserved better." He said, his cheeks suddenly burning again, though not from the drink. He turned away. Was he out of my mind? Had he just said that out loud? Did he really just admit this?

Jim sat completely upright now. "Spock did you just—"

"I think it is best if we continue this conversation when we are both not inebriated," Spock said, blaming it on the chocolate, though the effects had long worn off.

"Wait, wait, wait...ah, this was getting good, though," Jim pouted, looking even more pathetic and ridiculous in his drunken state.

He stood. "It is late Jim...I have to go home," Jim gripped his arm, his grip surprisingly firm and tight.

"Wait, are you...are you...leaving me?" Jim looked like he was about to cry, his eyes wide and pleading, tears welling up and threatening to burst.

Spock softened slightly, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. "I will see you tomorrow if you would like when you are in a much more sober state of mind." Jim nodded, slowly understanding.

"Thanks for coming...sorry...for...poisoning you..." He blubbered, hiccuping. He then began bawling, sobbing loudly. Spock shook his head, lifting him from his chair and dragging him over and laying him onto his bed. He then forced him to lie down, gently wiping away his tears.

"It is of no consequence. What's done is done." He pulled the bedsheets over him.

"No...I mean...I really mean it..." Jim said, slovenly protesting as he attempted but failed to escape the bedsheets, but was too exhausted and uncoordinated to resist his efforts.

"Sleep, given your current condition you require at least 6.5 hours of rest before you will start to feel sober again." He finally stopped resisting. Suddenly an odd look crossed Jim's face, and he sat up, staring intently at him.

"What is it?"

Jim suddenly grabbed his face, pulling him in, his strength and purpose surprising him. He fell onto his bed, his face dangerously close. He continued staring intently at him, a strange look cast over his face. His face was extremely close to his now, as he began moving closer. His eyes were hazel and wide and alluring, encapsulating him, a strange look of wanting in them. For a moment neither of them said anything, almost afraid to shatter the silence. Jim slowly licked his lips, staring down at his. His lips slowly became closer to his, drawing him in. He could smell his breath, an intoxicating blend of dry whiskey and chocolate.

He continued stroking his cheek, his hands soft and warm. From the shock, Spock's barriers had temporarily broken, and he instantly felt an inflow of thoughts. There was a deep sadness within him that shook him from his core, a pain of longing that was almost unbearable. There was also guilt though, writhing uncontrollably. There was embarrassment, but underneath, softly he could distinctly feel something else. He was too startled to question or even think of what it might be, too occupied by the situation in front of him.

"I just...I just never realised how beautiful you are Spock..." He whispered, his voice low and drawn out, almost afraid to speak. He drew closer. For some reason, Spock found he could not move away.

"You look like a princess!" He suddenly cried gleefully, breaking out in laughter.

He slapped his hand away; a deep heat flushing into his cheeks, angry and embarrassed with himself. Had he forgotten Jim was drunk? He straightened and stepped away. "Good night, Kirk," He said curtly, turning away from him, his face revealing too much even in the darkness.

"Wait..don't go...I'm sorry, Spock. I want you here."

"You know as well as I that I cannot stay. You are not well. You are not yourself." He said, turning away, my voice strained. Who was he reminding, himself or him?

What a fool he was to think he was thinking about anything else, especially in this drunken state. What a fool he was to think he could ever see him like that. He must have been out of his mind. He _was_ out of his mind. Perhaps it was a latent effect of the chocolate not being out of his system yet. Besides, it was clear that Jim was not over Janice by any means. That was the whole reason why he became intoxicated and why Spock came over here in the first place. To think otherwise...no, he would not allow himself that luxury, not here, and not now.

"Fiiine! Good night, Mr Spock." He said, turning to his side.

He stayed in his room until Jim had finally fallen asleep. He checked his forehead, assuring himself that his inebriation had no other physical ailments or complications. Jim slept soundly, peacefully even, as if he had not slept for a long time. Considering the state he was in, that likely could have been true. In the silence & comfort, his solitude Spock allowed himself a faint smile. Here no one could conceive or feel his thoughts. Here, at this moment, he was safe, even if only for a moment. Here he could be himself, unafraid.

"A princess..." He thought to himself. Out of all things he chose a princess to describe him. For a moment he let himself go and let his mind wander. He brushed away a stray hair on his forehead. He looked so gorgeous in the moonlight. If he was a princess, then Jim definitely was a prince, like the old fairy tales his mother used to tell him. He was so close too...as if it was almost a dream.

He stood, disgusted and ashamed with himself, reality crashing into him once more. What was he doing with himself? He was supposed to be gone by now, not staying here and gawking at him in this vulnerable state. The only reason he was like this to begin with was partially his own fault anyway. Jim would not desire him here if he were sober. He should not be taking advantage of this situation, even if he didn't do anything physically to him. This was not his place. This was not a dream or some fantasy. This was reality. He was only his friend, nothing more. They were only friends; he would not let his fantasies delude him any longer. He would not allow the odd events of the night cloud his judgement nor his incapacitated state of mind. Those were the facts and they were irrefutable and unchangeable. They were friends. They could only be friends, nothing more. Jim Kirk had shown again and again that was all that they were. How many times did he have to learn? How many times did he have to tell himself? He needed to leave before he did anything he would regret. He had already made a fool of himself more than enough tonight. He would not make any more mistakes he would come to regret. He did not need to ruin what they had.

He unlocked the window, the break of dawn appearing on the horizon. He turned to look back at him one last time. He truly did look like a prince in his sleep. He then snuck out of the window & returned back home.

**Author's Note **

Sorry for the late update, crazy life business got in the way and in truth, I was having a sort of block with how to end/finish the story that I wanted to figure out. This was a fun scene of fluff to sort of write. It was very dialogue-heavy which was nice, I honestly like writing dialogue more than narrative/description, it usually just makes the story flow easier and quicker for me. Also, somewhat unrelated but I don't know if drunk as a skunk is a common phrase or not. It is where I'm from but I don't know if that's colloquial. Anyway, thanks for reading & please leave a review!


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